


Out of Gas

by palateens



Series: Out of Road [1]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Road Trip, Angst with a Happy Ending, BPD Kent, Canon typical alcohol use, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Trans Kent, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-20 00:17:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 30,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10651071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/palateens/pseuds/palateens
Summary: Dex picks up a hitch hiker on the way to Aces prospect camp.





	1. I don't know how I'm going to go

**Author's Note:**

> So I was listening to the fic's titular song by Modest Mouse and "Opinions were like Kittens I was giving them away" struck me as the most Kent line I've ever heard. That thought came to me at the beginning of this year. This story has morphed a lot and grown into something serious but hopefully relatable. 
> 
> Warning: Kent does struggle with BPD in this fic. At the start of this fic he doesn't know what he has, just that it's inhibiting his quality of life. He will get help later in this fic but please take care of yourself. By all means, if you need to stop reading this fic all together, I will not be upset. I tried to make his experience realistic without putting him in unnecessary situations or romanticizing his problems. At the same time, it's important to note that every person's story is different so this one story does not invalidate your experiences.

Kent hates Reno. Ok, that’s a lie. He loves Reno’s landscape. But how the fuck did he end up in Reno? He was supposed to be in Vegas by now. He’d already tapped out his allowance for this town. As such, he’d spent the last three weeks tending bar at this place that needed staff and didn’t ask a lot of questions. After pulling crazy trips like this for a few years, he had a system down. He found somewhere willing to hire on the spot and saved up enough to pay for gas if he got picked up. Normally he chose mom and pop shops that weren’t baffled by him presenting physical letters of reference.

If he did his job well, they normally let him crash on a couch or something. If he did a spectacular job, which was rare but happening more frequently, he could count on a letter of rec or a phone number in case he was ever back in the area. His current boss was a piece of shit, but his husband let Kent sleep in the basement between last call and opening. Hence, Kent had a roof over his head, somewhere to eat whatever customers sent back, and a solid four hours every day to see the area. Izzy would tell him to stop being shitty and just get a hotel room. But there was something gratifying about feeling like he earned his keep. Today, however, he knew it was time to get the fuck out of dodge.  

He could probably skip Vegas if need be. That’s why he was planning on hitting the exit for I-80 tomorrow. He had a cardboard sign that said SOUTH in all caps. He’d thought about using Pavelski’s printer when he was in Cali. But he’d learned a thing or two about hitch hiking. One was people didn’t stop for guys who looked like he could afford to buy their car off them. The other was to not accept rides from just anyone. Which is how he made best friends in Ohio with this stripper named Veronica after he said no to this smelly guy’s vintage Pontiac.

In theory, he knows ten guys he could call for a ride down there but still…that’s not what this is supposed to be about. He’s trying to figure out some fucking self-reliance and self-respect you know? Troy would probably hand his ass to him if he ever got to Vegas. That was a big fucking if. A few cars pass him slowly, as if assessing whether to roll their windows down. It doesn’t matter how many drive on through, he only needs one to stop.

He doesn’t see any cars for a half an hour until a beat-up, silver Jeep Grand Cherokee passes him. He can hear its wheels skidding against their brake pads, grinding to a halt. He tilts his head, trying to conceal his giddy grin. He slings his knapsack over his shoulder, running after the car as it stops. It’s good hundred yards ahead of him, but he doesn’t care. He needed cardio. He approaches slowly, turning his cap backwards so the driver can get a good look at his face. He’s alone, so Kent approaches the passenger side slowly. Kent’s learned that drivers would rather put some distance between them and him, unless they have more valuable passengers on board.

 The window is already rolled down an inch when he gets there. By the look of the guy’s face, he’s barely legal. _Smart kid_ , Kent thinks to himself. He puts on his best dopey smile, with a little pitiful gleam Troy swears he has whenever he’s asking for ice cream.

“Where are you headed?” the kid says, not taking his eyes off the road ahead.

“Vegas, technically,” Kent leans against the hot car door.

“Technically,” the kid deadpans.

“Anywhere out of Reno is where I’m going,” he bargains. “I-um have money to split for gas.”

The kid turns enough, to stare at him incredulously. “Do you tell that to every person who stops?”

“No,” Kent smirks indulgently.  “Just the ones that look like they’re about to piss themselves, and probably won’t murder me.”

The kid, a redhead Kent notes now that he has a second to think (and man doesn’t he have the biggest galaxy of freckles floating on his face?) laughs. His shoulders ease up, and he finally turns to look at Kent with these amber eyes that are lit in the late afternoon sun. He quirks a brow that screams lazy content.

He looks Kent up and down. “I’m packing and you look like you’ve never held a gun in your life. So who would be murdering who?”

A part of Kent wants to correct him and say it’s who would be murdering whom. But even he has enough self-preservation not to be a dick about grammar. “Point taken. So…can I get a ride?”

“Sure, I’m headed to Vegas anyway,” the kid unlocks the car.

Kent scrambles in before he can change his mind. He plops his bag onto his lap, and fastens the seatbelt tightly. He offers the kid his hand to shake, “Kent.”

The kids looks at his hand wearily (probably wondering how likely it would be that Kent could over power him and take his car). He sighs, reluctantly accepting the hand, “Dex.”

Dex, or whatever his name really is, pulls off the shoulder without looking over his shoulder. Kent tries not to snap at him for reckless driving. At the end of the day, Kent’s a city boy. What does he know about safe driving? The radio is off, and besides the occasional honk from passing cars, their drive is silent. Kent is fine with staring out the window.

The road stretches on endlessly. The lane markers are swallowed up by the under belly of the car as quickly as they come. The sky is that pale blue Kent used to look at fondly from his apartment in Las Vegas. Back when he was still a household name. Back when his was lauded over the work of his body.

Reno and Vegas felt worlds apart. Reno was an oasis in an otherwise blistering state. It got snow in the winter, and had mountains in its skyline to mask the ugliness of the desert. Las Vegas wasn’t an oasis as much as a cesspool. People simmered in their shelters during the day. Bustling, pretending that they were in Vegas for practical reasons. Come sun down, they crawled out of whatever godforsaken holes they pleased. They were maggots converging on the strip for money, fame, and memories. The smart people stayed in at night, or otherwise had nothing to do with what made Vegas notorious.

People don’t look for Vegas, Jeff told him once. Vegas finds the darkest crevice of your heart and tugs. It tugs and tugs until your head is buried underneath two feet of sand: drowning your sorrows in alcohol, gambling, water…whatever was the hot commodity.

Vegas felt like a life time ago, rather than three years. He’d made his way back here every year since. It was mostly out of some sense of personal duty. Vegas wasn’t his home, but the Aces were his boys. They deserved more than their second-choice captain who ended his career early.

 Kent doesn’t notice he’s drifting off as the desert passes them by. He dozes in and out of consciousness until he feels the truck jerk to a halt. He catches himself before his head hits the dashboard.

“Christ, warn a guy,” he sneers.

Dex gives him a stoic eye roll, “I’m refilling the tank. The convenience store has a bathroom. Use it, or don’t. I’m leaving in ten.”

Kent stretches his arms out, groaning as he strains. “Alright, I’ll be back,” he jumps out of the car, taking his knapsack with him. He emerges a few minutes later with a large bag of chips and two slushies.

Dex is already back in the car.

“Cherry or Blue Raspberry,” Kent inquires. He notices how Dex is staring at him incredulously. “What?”

“You took your backpack to the fucking bathroom,” Dex huffs.

“So?”

“That’s unsanitary,” Dex chastises him.

“I washed my hands,” Kent presents them in front of the steering wheel.

Dex swats them away, “whatever.”

Kent shrugs, “look, I’m just offering a token of my appreciation here. You don’t have to enjoy a nice, cool, delicious ICEE on a hot day.”

Dex snorts, “hand me the cherry and shut up.”

“Knew it,” Kent smirks as Dex pulls out of the gas station.

“Blue Raspberry is disgusting.” Dex takes a long sip of his drink, “and not a real flavor.”

 “And let me guess,” Kent hums. “You’re only driving to Vegas because it was cheaper than flying? You probably hate road trips.”

“I didn’t know being trapped in a car for days was supposed to be fun.”

“Of course, it is,” Kent rips open the chip bag. “What’d you say your name was? Dexter?”

“Dex, just Dex.”

“Well, just Dex, allow me to enlighten you,” Kent mumbles with a full mouth. “Your standard familial road trip is gonna fucking suck. It’s like a law of nature, right after don’t wear white after Labor Day.”

“That’s…whatever,” he hunches forward.

“Anyway,” Kent ignores Dex’s agitation, “friend trips are sweet if they’re well planned. Otherwise, I refer you to my first trip to New Orleans. I ended up passed out on Panama City Beach. Which is like—five hours away.”

“How?”

Kent shrugs, “absinthe, a twenty-person orgy, a genderqueer fortune teller.”

Dex ignores him.

“But the best trips are the ones you take by yourself—‘Cause you get to learn about yourself and meet new people and shit.”

“And shit,” Dex parrots. “Eloquent.”

“Are you gonna chirp me the entire ride?”

“You mean point out how stupid you sound?” Dex tilts his head, “maybe.”

“Dexy, can I call you Dexy?”

“Dex is fine,” he says through clenched teeth.

“Look, Dexy,” Kent leans back in his seat. “You’re not one for chatter. I’ll respect that—but no one likes a poor conversationalist.”

“Did you get that from the fortune teller?”

“Fuck you, c’mon, we’ve got another six hours ‘til Vegas?”

“Your point?”

“We could like—talk. Or crank up the tunes and bicker about music taste. You look like a country fan.”

Dex shakes his head, “you sound like a friend of mine.”

Kent preens. “Your friend sounds fucking awesome.”

“That’s what he tells me,” Dex sighs.

Kent figures it’s better to divert the conversation. “So where do you keep the cassettes in this clunker?”

Dex glares at him from the corner of his vision. He rolls his eyes. “There’s an aux cable in the glove compartment. You got a phone?”

“Nope,” he pops the ‘p’ for emphasis. “I have an MP3 player, though.”

“You can afford a music player—but not a _phone_?” Dex’s voice cracks.

“I never said I couldn’t _afford_ a phone,” Kent emphasizes. “I said I don’t have one.”

Dex turns to him, staring like Kent’s grown a second head. Ultimately, he shakes his head, dropping the subject. After a few minutes, Kent fishes for the cord inside the overstuffed glove compartment.

“What’s your flavor?”

“Rock,” Dex mutters.

“Any rock or—like how pretentious are we talking here?”

“Pretentious?” Dex gapes, “you think I’m pretentious?”

“I think you look like the kind of guy who’s only ever done things one way,” Kent shrugs.

“Yeah?” Dex shouts. “You look like an asshole who’s too full of himself to give a shit about anyone else.”

Kent’s silent for a moment. Dex looks over again. Kent’s face is stricken with grief and something vacant in his eyes. Dex almost feels sorry…almost. It’s not his fault if this asshole doesn’t play well with others. He should know better than to bite the hand that feeds him.

“Alt rock it is,” Kent says after ten minutes. He scrolls through his shuffle, putting on Pearl Jam.

If Dex can feel the way Kent’s leg shakes or the way his eye twitches for an unsurmountable time afterward, he keeps it to himself. It’s better to stay out of other people’s business. They drive the rest of the way in silence.

Once they’re twenty miles outside of the city limits, Kent lowers the stereo volume. “Where you headed in the city?”

Dex squints, at the road. “Why?”

Kent furiously waves at Dex’s radio. “Because you clearly don’t have GPS and I know the place? Why else?”

“You first,” his voice clips.

“Me what?” Kent snaps. “You want me to tell you where I’m going so you know I’m not a stalker?”

“Don’t make it sound so crazy,” Dex growls.

“No, it’s not.” Kent thrums his fingers against his leg. He takes a deep breath. “Staying at a friend’s place on the south side of town. It’s a real place. You?”

“Friend of a friend is putting me up for the night,” Dex explains, equally annoyed. “I’ve got training in two days so I’m here early.”

“Training for what?”

“Work,” Dex clenches the steering wheel.

Kent laughs bitterly. “Real specific, ok what’s the address?”

“It’s on my phone,” Dex sticks a hand down his back pocket. He his phone before handing it to Kent. “It’s in the notes under ‘don’t forget’.”

Kent searches for the app and file. His mouth hangs open as he reads the address; he looks over each letter and number thrice. It’s just his fucking luck, isn’t it?

“You can put the navigation on if that’s easier,” Dex offers.

“Nah it’s fine, you’re gonna keep going on 95 until we get to the exit for 15. Then it’s basically south until the edge of town.”

“You knew all of that just from the address?”

“What’s Dex short for?” Kent asks quietly.

“What? Why?”

“You’re a hockey player. What’s your fucking nickname short for?”

“Poindexter.”

Kent laughs a little too harshly, “you’re a fucking nerd, aren’t you?”

“Are you always this much of a dick?”

“Only when there’s one to suck.” Kent bites his lip, “give me a minute.”

Kent thinks he’s going to cool down and wrap his mind around the fucking odds of running into someone who knows Troy. Not just that, judging by the giant Samwell slapped on the bag, he’s clearly one of Zimms’ old teammates. But he doesn’t really think about these issues and how they affect him. Rather, he stares out the window, getting his breath under control.

“It’s been ten,” Dex murmurs.

Kent gets whiplash looking back at him. “What?”

“You said to give you a minute,” he reiterates. “That was ten minutes ago.”

Kent runs his tongue over his front teeth, nodding absent mindedly. “Right, uh, it’s the next exit by the way. We’re going south.”

“How?”

“Your ‘friend of a friend’ is my buddy,” he admits. “We’re going to the same goddamn mansion.”

Dex is silent for a bit, “why should I believe you?”

“Just—fuck does everything have to be a fight with you?”

“Because you’re so innocent.” He throws a sneer over his shoulder, “fuck off, Kent.”

Kent glares at him for a long second. Then taps at the phone in his hand.

“Hey, the fuck are you doing—”

Kent puts a finger up to silence Dex as he puts the phone to his ear. “Hey it’s me.”

Jeff’s shouting, of course he’s upset. But that’s not the pressing issue at the moment.

“Yeah, tell me all about it later. Listen, one of your boy scouts picked me up outside of Reno, says he’s supposed to stay with you. Poindexter. We’re on 15, just passed 39. Do me a favor, give him directions.”

Kent all but flings the phone at Dex.

_/.\\_

Dex struggles to catch the phone. “Hello?”

“Dex? It’s Troy. How you doing, bud?”

“Good,” he sighs, “sorry about that—”

“Don’t be,” Troy interrupts him. “Thanks for grabbing him. Kent can be a stubborn fucker. Just stay on the line. Kent just needs to calm down a little. Get out on exit 30, I’ll give you more directions when you’re closer.”

“Ok,” he agrees simply.

“Ask him what he wants for dinner.”

“Kent, what do you want for dinner?”

“Ask him if he wants Indian or Thai.”

“Do you want Indian or Thai?”

“Mexican,” Kent gruffs. “I want tacos and horchata.”

“I heard that,” Jeff shouts. “Ask him from where.”

“From where?”

“I’ll make them.”

Dex, squints at him again. For probably the tenth time in just as many hours. “You can cook?”

Dex can hear Troy groaning. It must’ve been a mistake (which makes sense considering how Dex has managed to exacerbate Kent today). But instead of blowing up in Dex’s face—

“My mom owns a bakery in New York,” Kent explains softly. “She’s Mexican—taught me everything I know.”

“Oh,” Dex hums. “I’ve never tried Mexican food before college.”

“You’re joking,” Kent gapes. “Tell me you’re joking.”

He shrugs. “Not unless you count ground meat in Old El Paso shells.”

Kent laughs a little too hard, but there’s this weirdly sad smile on his face. “What’s your favorite food Dexy?”

“My mom’s meatloaf. She doesn’t make it a lot, but it’s good.”

“Yeah? Does she make it with mashed potatoes or some shit?”

“And gravy,” he adds, “cornbread if my brother and I haven’t fought all week.”

“Is it just you and your brother or—”

“It’s him, my oldest brother and sister, and my little sister.” He doesn’t know why he’s spilling his life’s story to a complete stranger. But there’s something calming about this guy’s pleasant demeanor, inviting. And the small talk is clearly helping. “You?”

“Baby sister’s in college,” Kent mutters.

“Where?”

“Syracuse, I told her to get out of New York and she gave me the finger.”

“That’s like Mary,” Will relates. “Claire doesn’t care that she’s the youngest. She gets shit done and hopes we forget about her.”

Kent chuckles. “Full house, huh?”

“Not as much anymore. Connor’s got a family. Mary’s finishing up her residency. Dylan’s…being Dylan.”

“What does that mean?” It doesn’t come off angry, just—off.

“He saved up for a year, packed up his car and moved to Oregon.”

“That’s cool,” Kent nods.

“I guess. Troy, I’m getting off the highway.”

“Sweet, make a right,” Troy talks him the rest of the way there.

Dex’s barely parked on the curb when Kent flings his door open. His knapsack is all but forgotten as he’s meeting some guy, half way down the lawn, embracing him tightly. Dex grabs his bag out of the back. He slings Kent’s pack over his shoulder, may as well be polite. Kent’s still hugging the guy as Dex approaches, clearing his throat awkwardly.

“Parse let me go,” the guy whines.

“Never.” Kent whisper shouts.

“The poor kid drove you eight hours,” he argues. “I think he deserves some hospitality.”

“You’re right,” Kent sighs, backing up.

“Hey Dex,” the guy, presumably Troy offers his hand. “Thanks for getting him here in one piece.”

Dex takes his hand to shake. “No problem.”

“Kitchen?” Parse demands.

“Yea go on, I bought tortillas this morning,” Troy pats Kent’s back.  

Kent bolts without a second glance.

“Seriously, Dex, thanks.”

“It’s fine,” Will collects his thoughts. There’s so much he wants to say, to know. “He’s really your friend? He seems…eccentric.”

Troy gives him a funny look, “you don’t recognize him?”

Dex shrugs, “never met him before.”

Troy nods slowly, then gestures to the house. “Well c’mon, his tacos are fucking amazing.”

_/.\\_

“Call your mom,” Troy tells Kent after dinner.

“Later.”

“ _Now_ , Parse,” Jeff’s voice is stern. “She’s worried about you. She cares ok?”

“Ok,” he mumbles.

Dex can’t make out what else he’s saying. Most of it is in Spanish as far as he can tell. He sort of makes out that he’s been working somewhere for a month, and he promises to balance her books tonight. When Kent hangs up, he scrubs his face harshly.

“There, I did it,” Kent grumbles.

“I need you to make one more call,” Troy hands him back the phone.

“Who?” Kent stares at him for a second, mouth dropping open when it clicks for him. “Absolutely not.”

“I promised him you’d call if you got here—”

“No,” Kent repeats.

Troy rubs his temple. He takes a lap around the kitchen before asking, “can you tell me why?”

“He hates me, I literally never want to talk to him again.”

“Kent, he doesn’t hate you.” Troy hugs him from behind, “he’s just worried. We all are, man.”

“He’s fine,” Kent insists. “He has his perfect boyfriend and his perfect life.”

“Do you remember what you told me two years ago?”

“Vague much?”

“What did you say when he got signed? What did you tell me?”

Kent stares intently at Troy for a really long time.

“Do you remember?” Troy prompts again.

“I don’t care if he’s on the Falcs or what—you have his back. You can beat up the entirety of his team for all I care, but Zimms doesn’t get shit from us.”

“And wouldn’t ignoring his anxiety be ‘giving him shit’?”

A beat, and then—“dial his number before I change my mind.”

“Hey,” a soft chuckle escapes Kent’s lips. “Yea I’m ok. Your boy Dex found me in Reno.”

“No it was completely by accident,” Kent’s laugh is hollow but convincing enough. “I’m glad too. Maybe I could pop by when I get back? Yea, I’m sure. If he thinks it’ll get here on time, sure. The boys would love some.”

“Yea you too, say hi to Bits for me.” Kent hangs up without as much as a goodbye.

Troy pats him on the back, taking the cell phone away. “I’m proud of you.”

“I’ll try to believe you,” Kent buries his head in his hands.

“That’s all I ask,” Jeff pulls him toward the couch.

Dex slips back into his bedroom. Who is this guy?

_/.\\_

Dex is awoken to a loud banging at his door. He groans, rolling over to check his clock. It reads 5 am.

“Dexy,” Kent sings. “Rise and shine, Dexy.”

“Go away,” Dex rolls back onto his side, facing away from the door.

He hears the creak of the hinges as it opens anyway. “Don’t you know what ‘go away’ means?”

“It’s from the Latin ‘denial’ meaning to not understand that prospect camp means working your ass off,” Kent declares.

“Camp starts tomorrow,” Will groans.

“No camp starts _today_. The draftees are practicing today, and you’re gonna go with them.”

“It’s five for fuck’s sake,” he buries his face in his pillow.

“Yep, perfect time for a run,” Kent sounds like the happiest fucker on earth.

Dex sits up, leveling Kent a hardened glare. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Kent smirks fiendishly, “the sooner we get back the sooner I’ll heat up the chilaquiles I made last night.”

His glare falls slightly, “I don’t know what that means—”

“Just get dressed,” Kent groans half-heartedly.

Dex wants to put up more of an argument. But remembering how Kent reacted yesterday, and how he mysteriously knows Jack, he decides to just comply. Kent respects him enough to leave, tapping on the door every minute until Dex comes out fully dressed.

They take to jogging around Troy’s neighborhood. Dex follows Kent’s lead as the round the edges of the golf course. The sun is barely peaking over the horizon, but it already feels warm. Every house the pass is decadent in a way that makes Dex want to hurl. They’re covered in the same beige colored stucco, terracotta roof shingles, and giant windows that are more ornamental than efficient or functional. He hates how much people can take up while some people get by on hardly anything.

He remembers how much he hated his first weeks at Samwell.

Frat row was made up of perfectly manicured lawns and Hollister models playing bocce ball and bags while squirting people with water guns. The Lacrosse house was the worst of all of them. His mom dropped him off in front of his building, helping unload most of his things so the move in crew could load it in. The entire thing felt off; he’d never had people just do something for him because of where he was. It didn’t really stop there. Every time he turned around, there was this dichotomy of students and student workers—the people who were paying their way through college and the people who’d never know what minimum wage really means.

He walked around for a month feeling like an imposter in his own life. His hockey scholarship allowed him a lot of liberties. For once, he didn’t have to have a part time job to save for hockey and work at his uncles’ shops for spare change. He could just go to school and play hockey. Hockey was his meal ticket, but it was probably the easiest obligation he’d had in years. He was waiting for the other shoe to drop. He was waiting for his grades to slip or the coaches to realize he wasn’t worth the dent in their budget. Dex figured it was a dream that was bound to end.

Only the dream kept going.

Jack pointing him in the right direction for an agent was another pin in a long line of lucky breaks. Will keeps wondering when his luck is going to run out.

“What position?” Kent snaps him out of his trance.

Dex hums in confusion.

“That angry knife sport you play?” Kent chirps. “What position?”

“Defense,” he mutters.   

“Any good?”

“I had a five-game point streak last season,” Dex recites like his agent taught him. “We had two shuts outs. Our team won the Frozen Four.”

“I asked if you were _good_ ,” Kent protests. “I didn’t ask you to give me your team’s stats.”

“Whatever,” Dex would rather not do this right now.

“You talk back that much to Jack?” Kent chirps.

“Not while he was my captain, can’t make me do suicides after practice anymore.”

Kent chuckles, “good answer.”

“How do you know him?” Dex chances.

“If you don’t know, I’m not telling you,” Kent sing-songs.

“Why?”

“It’s nice,” Kent admits slowly. “To know you hate my guts because of who I am and not what I did.”

Heat rises off the pavement as the sun rises in the sky. Dex hadn’t believed tumble weeds were real until he drove to California a few weeks before. Everything about hot, arid climates seemed fake to a New England native like Dex. The landscape was surreal and mysterious, much like Kent. Dex is still trying to piece together what he learned last night about this guy. He can assume Kent played hockey.  How else would he know Jack and Troy?

“You’re something,” Dex concludes out loud.

“So I’ve been told,” Kent shouts good naturedly.  

They spend the rest of their run in silence. Dex is partially thankful. He doesn’t get Kent. One moment he’s up, the next he’s radiating tension. It was so easy to lose track of what he’s thinking around Kent. He lags for a few paces. With Kent sporting a bro tank, Dex can notice the tattoos on both his shoulders. One looks like some skyline (New York maybe?) dripping with streaks of red, blue, and purple down the sides of buildings. It has a full moon right on the joint. Dex wonders, not for the first time, what’s the point of subjecting yourself to mutilation for the sake of aesthetic.

His left arm looks like it has some flowers. He can’t really make out what kind they are or what they mean. Unlike the skyline, these flowers are completely in black and white. They look untamed yet calm at the same time. Dex wonders if Kent’s the kind of guy who has a soft side brimming at the surface. Then Kent makes some lewd comment about Dex being able to check out his ass later, and Dex wonders why he picked this fucker up off the side of the road.

When they get back to Troy’s place, Kent makes good on his promise.

Dex is smothering green salsa on some weird cheese casserole and that’s definitely a first.

“You don’t get out much,” Kent chirps.

“Says the guy I found on the side of the highway,” Dex volleys back.

Kent’s laugh is hard and brittle. It crackles like an engine that hasn’t been used in months.

“Guess you can take my opinion with a grain of salt,” Kent mumbles into his glass of OJ.

He downs it, all but tossing his glass into the sink. He pats Dex’s shoulder as he rounds the island. He takes the stairs two at a time, like a kid.

“Be ready in twenty,” he shouts at the top of the stairs.

Dex groans. This guy would not let up.


	2. I had a drink the other day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Am I worth it?” Dex winces at the way his voice falters.  
> “That’s not the question and you know it,” Kent licks his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: mentions of suicide attempts in this chapter  
> it's about the same level of graphic as Year 1 #6 "The Hockey Prince"  
> more mentions of homophobia in this chapter 
> 
> I think that's everything

It takes them an hour to make it to the Aces training facility. It’s easily three times the size of Faber. This must be why tickets are so expensive in Vegas, Dex concludes. Next thing he knows he’s being introduced to five or six guys who are just putting on their pads. Will’s half asleep so he doesn’t take much stock in their names. He figures he can say he’s terrible at names later, or else fake it until he learns their names second hand.

He’s just all but shoved onto the ice by Kent who orders him to run suicides with the other guys.

“Hey,” Troy complains. “Who’s captain around here?”

Kent snorts. “Don’t you have weight training right now?”

“Fine, break the rookies.” Jeff yells over his shoulder as he heads to the weight room, “see if I care.”

“What is with this guy?” Dex says quietly enough that only the guy in his wave (Grundy? Grady? Grody??) can hear him.

“I heard he does this with all the teams he visits,” the guy says. “No one tells him to stop ‘cuz he’s got the magic touch or some shit.”

“Dude,” the blond on the other side of Gr—that guy hisses. “This isn’t any team. This _was_ Parse’s team.”

“No kidding,” the guy clicks his tongue. “He’s the fucker who won two Stanley Cups under 21?”

“The very fucker,” Kent stops two feet in front of them. His stature is icy yet regal now that he’s in pads, bucket, and practice jersey. He’s like an entirely different person. “So boys, who wants to face off first?”

Will is unaware that everyone else has taken a step back. But he definitely notices when Kent thanks him for volunteering.

“What are we doing exactly?”

“You’re going to play a little one on one with me,” Kent smirks. “All you gotta do is go defend that goal over there,” he points to the posts behind Dex, “against little ol’ me.”

Dex should’ve known by how innocent Kent’s eyes looked that he was fucked. Before Dex can blink, Kent’s dropping a puck and is already halfway down the rink. Dex catches up enough for a stick check. He repositions himself in front of the goal as Kent repossess the puck. Dex decides to rush Kent; the sooner he can take the puck away from him, the sooner they can all move on. Kent turns out to have the softest hands Dex has ever seen. It’s unreal how much Dex has to work to keep up with his speed and maneuvering despite being one of the best d-men in the NCAA and having half a foot on Kent.

They’re at it for maybe five minutes before Kent finally sneaks it past him.

“You were sloppy and tactless,” Kent declares. “But from the tapes I’ve seen of these assholes, you’re not the worst guy here.”

Dex feels his mouth fall open as he flounders. That was some of the hardest hockey he’s ever played. It still amounted to a long rally. But he knew if he couldn’t defend against one guy, there was no point in trying to get signed.

Kent pats Dex’s back as he skates back to the group. “Alright boys, who’s next?”

_/.\\_

Kent makes excuses about finding the GM a while later. Dex and the guys hit the showers.

He decides to wait until they’re mostly dressed to ask. “Ok who the fuck is he?”

“You’ve never heard of Kent Parson?” Davy gives him an odd look.

“No?”

“Didn’t you get a ride with him and the cap?” Perry, his d-partner for the week, kicks his shin.

Dex dries his hair furiously with a towel. “Yea, so?”

Perry rolls his eyes, “so how the fuck did you do that?”

Dex shrugs, “Troy’s a friend of a friend. Kent’s needed a ride so I gave him one.”

Grayson snorts, “who’s your friend, Jack Zimmermann?”

“Yea, actually,” Dex admits slowly.  

They room freezes.

“Well fuck,” Perry cackles. “You should ask Zimmermann, then.”

“Or you could just tell me,” Dex fumes. He’s getting really sick of being the only person who doesn’t know what’s going on.

“Alright, assholes,” Troy shouts as he enters the room. “Be here by eight am tomorrow for camp. And otherwise, have a fucking lovely Sunday.”

There’s a resounding chorus of thanks cap that Dex quietly joins in on; he feels awkward because Troy isn’t _his_ captain (not yet at least).

“Hey, Dexy,” Troy approaches casually. “Walk with me?”

Dex nods, throwing his gym bag over his shoulder.

Troy leads him in silence to the car.

“What about Kent?” Dex hitches his thumb behind them.

“He’s doing drills with one of the goalies.”

“Why?”

Troy shrugs, bemused. “He’s a dedicated fucker.”

Dex opens his mouth to ask who is he, but decides against it. The last thing he needs is to piss off the guy who could be the difference between the Aces offering Will a contract or not.

Troy puts an arm behind Dex’s head rest as he backs out of his spot. “Did Jack ever tell you about what he did before Samwell?”

“No,” Dex stares out at the nearly empty lot. “I never really asked.”

“I’m assuming you don’t keep up much with the NHL.”

“Well now I do,” he frowns. “I didn’t watch much until Jack got signed. It seemed like a pipe dream, y’know?”

Troy nods in understanding.

They turn left, heading onto some smaller street.

“You know who Jack’s dad is?”

“Yea.”

“You know why he didn’t go first in the draft in 09?”

“Yea,” Dex grunts. Because who went to Samwell and didn’t have a vague idea of Jack’s ‘tragic backstory’? Only, he probably got a more realistic version of what happened.

“Ok, so the guy who was supposed to be number two in the draft suddenly becomes number one.” Jeff holds up two fingers while still concentrated on the road. “He gets shipped a few thousand miles away from home. He gets shoved into captaincy before his rookie year is even up. Everyone wanted him to be everything Jack couldn’t be. So he pours his soul into his team for the next five seasons without a single fucking break.”

Dex stretches the back of his head. “And that was you?”

“Nah,” Jeff smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’m just the alternate they made captain after he broke down and left.”

It occurs to Dex that that much should’ve been obvious. He didn’t want to believe those guys when they said Kent was a Stanley Cup champion. Professional hockey players don’t hitch hike to Vegas to help their former team with prospective camp. Then again, he clearly wasn’t a professional hockey player anymore.

“Why?” _did he leave? Is he here? Does he play like he’s still making six figures to play sixty plus games a year?_

“I don’t know,” Jeff admits with a shrug. They pull into the parking lot of a 50’s diner. “There are only two people who’ve ever understood Kent Parson, his mom and his sister. And they don’t even understand him anymore.”

Dex frowns as they head inside. This guy was some sort of legend and he just dropped off the face of the earth? Who does that?

_/.\\_

Kent gets a ride from the AGM back to Jeff’s house. He gets a bit of a lecture about how they could re-sign him at any time; and ‘maybe it would be fourth line but you’d get up there quickly’. For the twentieth time this year, he says thanks but no thanks. He’s not in hockey shape anymore. The only reason he can keep up with draftees and kids in college is because they haven’t had their asses kicked by conditioning yet.

He promises to think about it just so the AGM will leave him alone as he drops Kent off at Jeff’s. It’s almost dinner time, and Kent realizes he hasn’t eaten since breakfast. Part of him thinks he should be happy he even remembered to eat today. But he knows better.

He bangs the front door a few times until he hears shuffling on the other side. Dex throws the door open, walking away when he sees it’s Kent.

“Well hello to you too,” Kent snarks. He looks around the main living area. He can see as far as the loft upstairs. Troy’s nowhere in sight. “Where’s Don Jefferson?”

Dex squints. “Who?”

“Jeff,” he clarifies.  

“Went out on a date.” Dex all but collapses on the sectional, “he said to order Chinese.”

“Sweet,” he cracks his stiff neck, “you already ate or you want something too?”

Dex’s eyes narrow, “I have a meal plan to stick to.”

“Dexy,” Kent tsks. “Life’s too short to always follow your meal plan. C’mon, I’ll order and we’ll hit the pool.”

Kent has to wear Dex down a little (the guy pretends like he doesn’t have a swimsuit, he just came from California). Kent all but sprints into the pool once they’re in the courtyard. He thought about jumping off the balcony between the second floor and the master suite. But then he remembered how upset Troy got the last time he broke a bone doing something fun.

Dex kind of steps into the shallow end, and then promptly gets out. He does this another five times.

“What are you doing?” Kent screws up his face.

“Getting in the pool,” Dex shouts irritably.

“Y’know you could just—stay in?”

“It’s freezing,” he scowls.

“Pfft, don’t be such a baby.”

Dex glares between the water and Kent. “Look you’re the one who wanted me to get in. I’m just trying to warm up.”

“Just stick your head underwater.” Kent demonstrates for him. When he resurfaces, he spits out a mouthful of water. “You’ll be warm.”

Dex seems to consider this for a moment, and hesitantly walks toward the deep end. He plunges in with one hand covering his nose. Kent ducks his head underwater. Dex sinks to the bottom before opening his eyes and swimming toward the surface. Kent loves the water. Everything feels natural when he’s swimming. Time erases itself. It’s different in the water. He isn’t just a fucked-up Yoda leading the chosen one to his destiny. Because isn’t that what Dex is? What are the odds of finding Jack’s pet project on his way to Vegas?

He doesn’t notice how long he’s just staring at the floor of the pool until Dex is nudging him. Kent flops on his back, staring at amber eyes that flicker with something morose; maybe it’s concern. Kent doesn’t know if he’s ever understood what other people feel about it him. He isn’t sure what’s a socially acceptable period of time to care deeply about another human being. All he knows is that these are the most interesting eyes he’s ever seen.

“What?” Dex balks.

“Nothing,” Kent admits quietly, “just enjoying the view.”

He expects Dex to brush it off or get flustered like straight guys do. His lip twitches, almost in a smile—he’s used to flirting with guys. Fuck, Kent thinks to himself. Of course, he isn’t straight.

“Wanna play a game?” Kent suggests.

Dex swims a few feet away. He gets out of the pool. Kent frowns, but doesn’t follow. He refuses to make a big deal out of that. He just swims, keeping his head underwater until his lungs are screaming for help. It’s easier than making a scene, he tells himself. It’s all he can do not to explode over nothing. He knows it’s nothing; Dex had every right to leave. But it also doesn’t stop him from feeling like a stupid piece of shit.

A few minutes later, there’re feet in the deep end of the pool. They’re as white as fresh snow and covered with hair that are brown with a tinge of red. He paddles toward them, wondering briefly what it would feel like to sleep on them. He’s always been a tactile person. It’s not weird he tells himself.

Kent gasps for air, nearly crashing into a bag on the edge of the pool. Dex snorts, rolling his eyes.

“You gonna get out or eat in the pool?” Dex chirps.

Kent tilts his head, flashing him a lopsided grin. “What’s the point of cartons if you can’t eat in a pool?”

“You’re really strange.”

“So I’ve been told.” He grabs the box of fried rice Dex hands him, being careful to eat over the tile of the backyard and not the actual pool. Jeff would probably kill him if he has to pay extra for pool cleaning.

They eat in silence for a while. Dex clears his throat, “so about this ‘game’?”

Kent perks up. “You still interested?”

“If you tell me what it is…” Dex concentrates on using his chopsticks properly, “maybe.”

“Question for a question?”

Dex quirks a brow. “We’re not in middle school, Kent.”

“Never too old to get to know someone,” he protests.

He stares blankly at Kent for a moment. “Fine.”

Kent smirks. “You wanna go first Mr. Stoic?”

Dex sets his food down, licking his lips free of sweet and sour sauce. “What’s with the flower tattoo?”

Kent snorts into his forearm. He turns slightly so Dex can get a good look at the dahlias and the rosary nestled in between the petals. “It was the most Mexican tattoo I could think of. Except maybe a Frida Kahlo tat, but I’ll probably get that at some point.”

“Why?”

“Ah,” Kent tuts, “that’s more than one question.”

“Well you didn’t explain why you got it,” Dex argues.

Kent shrugs, picking at his food with his fork. “I’m white passing. Which sometimes makes my life easier. And sometimes it really fucks with how I see myself. I don’t—want to pretend that I’m anything that I’m not, I guess?”

“So…it’s like a warning label?”

“Or a big neon sign saying, ‘won’t validate your xenophobic bullshit,’” he quips.

Dex nods, “your turn.”

“How was California?”

“Good,” Dex responds calmly. Probably because it’s nothing invasive, just small talk. “My best friend’s getting scouted by Anaheim. He’s a little pissed that I’m the one who got interest from San Jose.”

“He a big Sharks fan?” Kent prompts with a full mouth.

“The biggest,” Dex smiles fondly. “Anyway, my other best friend flew in from New York. We spent a week hanging out before camps started.”

Kent hums.

“Jack’s never mentioned you,” Dex poses.

“Does he talk about the Q all the time?” Kent counters acerbically.

“No.”

“There’s your answer.”

“I was making an observation,” Dex protests.

“Fine, take another crack at it,” Kent grumbles.

“Are you guys close?”

“We used to be.” Kent shovels a mouthful of rice into his mouth, chewing excruciatingly slowly. “I guess we kinda are now. That’s probably Bitty’s doing. You know him, right?”

“He was my captain last year.”

“No shit?”

“That was a question,” Dex points out.

Kent waves for him to proceed.

Dex eyes him carefully. “Were you good?”

Kent gapes at him, “you’ve known about me what? All day? And you haven’t bothered to look up my stats?”

“I _did_ ,” Dex raises his voice. “I want to hear what you think.”

“I was fine.” Kent’s eyes cloud over from a clear green to a muddied brown. “I was drafted to a team that needed help. I left them better than how they were when I started.”

Dex shakes his head, his jaw set tight.

“What?” Kent snaps.

“You’re one of the best players of all time,” Dex bites. “How many fucking records did you break with what? A four-year career?”

“So?”

He laughs mirthlessly. “Bullshit you’re ‘fine’. You’re apparently a legend.”

“Says the guy who didn’t know I existed two days ago,” Kent shouts.

“Whatever,” Dex huffs. “You’re turn.”

“Why the fuck are you angry at me?”

“Because who just gives up like that? I saw you today. You could start playing again tomorrow, and still be one of the best players of all time. Not peddling out advice to whatever team decides to take you in out of pity.”

“Fuck you,” Kent sighs, putting his food down and plunging back into the pool. He’s never wanted to say, ‘I don’t deserve this’ as badly as he wants to now. Because this kid doesn’t know shit about him. He doesn’t get to pass judgement on Kent. And for what? Being Jack’s buddy that went and disappointed everyone? Didn’t Jack teach him better?

It occurs to Kent that maybe Jack never talks about what happened in his bedroom. Kent wouldn’t either, quite honestly. He hoists himself out of the pool, padding over to where Dex is sitting. He’s glaring at Kent wearily. Kent wonders if he even understands how much of an asshole he’s being. Kent’s allowed to beat himself up about quitting, that’s for him and him alone to do. He gingerly sits down on Dex’s right side. He turns his head away from Dex, bending his earlobe toward the pool.

“You see that tattoo?” Kent asks quietly.

He feels Dex’s breath hover on his neck. Goosebumps erupt faster than Kent can suppress the blush on his cheeks.

“Yea,” Dex whispers.

“Do you know what a semicolon means?”

“Yea,” his voice cracks. “Dylan has one.”

He looks back at Dex, pursing his lips defiantly. Kent is not in the mood to break down. He’s cold and emotionless, and that’s how the world accepts him. He doesn’t ugly cry in front of his ex’s former teammates.

“That answer your question?”

He doesn’t expect to get hugged. But Dex’s face is all but buried in Kent’s shoulder. Kent feels his own slippery arms wrap around Dex’s back. It’s an impulse. People don’t just hug people in the fucked up heteronormative country they live in. It’s one of the few appeals to living with his mom, there are always plenty of Latin@s around. Maybe he doesn’t get how people could like him, love him even. But being sheltered in someone else’s arms (and a practical stranger at that) convinces him for a moment that people could care.

“What’s your name?” Kent dares to ask. “Your real name.”

Dex tenses slightly. “Will, William Poindexter.”

_/.\\_ 

The next day, the rest of the guys show up and real camp commences. It’s an hour of drills before the spectators start trickling in and scrimmages commence. The roster for teams have been set for a while. Dex is relieved he’ll get most of the week before the tourney to get used to a new d-partner. Perry’s decent, and he’s the only one who laughs when Kent starts chirping them in Spanish. It helps when Dex’s rough high school curriculum and his one semester of college Spanish fail him.

“He kept calling us chickens, right?” Dex asks at the end of the day as they’re filing into the bus.

They’re heading to the strip for team bonding and some other shit about integrating the new blood into the team dynamic.

“Among other things,” Perry chuckles.

“‘Swawesome,” he mutters.

“‘Swawesome?” Robby, a forward who recently got called up from the Aces’ farm team, inquires.

“Oh, it’s that thing Birkholtz wouldn’t stop saying,” Troy interjects.

“Doesn’t it mean like sweet and awesome or so awesome or something?” Kent waves his hand in a circular motion.

“Yea something like that,” Dex agrees, humoring his chirp.

Perry punches Dex’s arm lightly, “how many pros do you know, bro?”

Dex shrugs, “just the two.”

“Yea,” Kent snorts, “if that doesn’t count how many times you’ve probably run into Bob and Uncle Mario.”

“Well if we’re counting hockey players I’ve met…I guess it’s a lot.”

“Damn right,” Kent affirms proudly.

“Hey Cap,” Grayson interrupts, “does that mean you know Wayne Gretzky?”

Troy shakes his head with a chuckle, “not like these assholes at least. Kent has him in his pocket book.”

There’s a chorus of questions and confusion.

Dex stares at Kent incredulously. “Really? That’s what you do instead of carrying around a cell phone?”

“Your car can’t even play cassettes,” Kent volleys.

“Whatever old man,” Dex chirps.

“Says the twerp,” Kent laughs.

There are tentative plans to split up (mainly so everyone who’s legal can go out and party). But first, Kent insists on taking the guys to the High Roller.

“You’re not gonna convince these guys to go up with you,” Troy warns him.

“Anyone who comes up gets selfies, hockey stories, and bragging rights,” Kent announces.

That means just about everyone is on board, except for Dex.

“C’mon, Dexy,” Kent pleads. “It’s the best view of Vegas you’ll ever see.”

“Seeing as I don’t need selfies or bragging rights, what’s in it for me?”

Kent rolls his eyes as he hands the ticket lady a credit card. “How about after this, I do whatever you want?”

Dex wants to make a threat about taking him to a Britney show, and then he remembers who he’s talking to, “fine.”

It’s supposed to be one of the largest Ferris wheels in the world, or so Kent tells him. The climb to the top is slow, and the video tour guide is annoyingly corny. Kent spends the ride up being social with the other guys. They seem to eat up every morsel of hockey legend he can dish out. There’s got to be a dozen or more selfies taken while he regales the group in everything from how he spent the playoffs with the Kings (who won the Cup this past season) to Bitty’s baking.

“And that’s why you don’t fuck with the Falcs,” Kent explains. “Those pies will change your life. They’re fucking magical.”

“Ay Dexy,” Robby calls out, “is he shitting us?”

Dex looks away from the window facing the Bellagio. “They’re the best pies you’ll ever eat. That guy spent three years teaching me how to bake.”

“Well that settles it,” Troy announces with a loud clap. “Wednesday is movie night at my place. We’re baking.”

The guys erupt into chatter. Dex turns back to the view. He expected Vegas from this height to be cold and desolate. The lights stretch on for miles in any direction.

“A lot of people wonder how a little town in the middle of the desert turned itself into one of the biggest resort destinations in the world,” the announcer explains.

“Pretty sure that’s why they call it Paradise,” Kent recites along with the video.

Will’s lip twitches involuntarily. “You come here a lot?”

“It opened like three months before I left.” Kent’s voice is light, peaceful yet vacant. “I came up here almost every night I could.”

“Why?”

Kent takes a deep breath, staring out into the night. Dex nudges his shoulder gently.

“I remember being six looking down at the city from the Empire State Building. Ma saw that I was scared. Frozen in fear’s more like it. She held my hand, and watched with me. She said something I’m never gonna forget—‘mijo, when something scares us we have two options. We can run away, avoid it at all costs so it won’t hurt us. Or we can face our fears head on.’”

“You scared of heights?”

“Not anymore, not scared of a lot of things anymore.”

“She probably didn’t mean death,” Dex murmurs so quietly he doesn’t think Kent will hear.

“Yea she told me that after it happened,” Kent chuckles sadly.

“I was scared of the dark until I was thirteen,” Dex admits.

Kent’s fingers slip in between his, squeezing with just enough pressure to be noticeable.

“What changed?” Kent murmurs

“I learned that I wasn’t scared of the dark. I was scared of not knowing who’d be gone in the morning.”  Which is true. Dex had spent so many years waiting for his father to walk out, waiting for his mother to crumble or get a divorce. Waiting for someone to out him so stupendously that he’d have nowhere in town to stay and now way of leaving. He’d never stopped to notice Dylan was a shell of the brother he once knew.

It felt like he was constantly relearning Kent Parson. He only got bits and pieces of this enigma.  There was a guy wandering the desert, the greatest rookie the NHL had ever known, and a guy who was just trying to get his life back. Dex went to sleep the night before thinking that maybe he was drawn to Kent because of how much he reminded him of Dylan. Like part of him wanted to bring his brother home. Staring out into a vast oasis of lights and chaos, it makes him think that anyone can be somewhere, _be_ someone, and still be stuck.

Kent hums, “makes sense.”

“What are you really scared of?” Will chances.

“Same thing as always.” He feels Kent shift closer to Dex. “If I stick around long enough, people will figure out how fucking useless I am.”

“Did you ever stop to see if you were wrong?”

“Yea,” Kent rasps.

“And?”

“He died for two minutes, joined a college team—heard he’s engaged.”

 _Oh_ , Dex thinks. The epiphany clicks into place in his mind. He remembers finding his brother half dead on their bedroom floor. He went to therapy for years just because of that. He didn’t even come out until a year or so ago. He’d been so scarred that accepting who he was would mean facing whatever Dylan had to back in high school, or worse. He kept having to remind himself that they were different people. His brother had to deal a lot more with transphobia than anything else.

Maybe it wasn’t Dylan that Dex was searching for in Kent. Maybe it was himself.

Will squeezes Kent’s hand.

There’s a tingling in his arm that he doesn’t recognize until Kent’s breath is ghosting over his ear. “Can you breathe in for me? Nice and slow.”

Dex can’t believe Kent of all people is talking him down from a panic attack. It’s been a while since he’s felt himself hyperventilate. It’s been even longer since he’s had a full-blown attack. They’re half way back to the bottom when Dex feels like a person again.

“Sorry,” Kent squeezes his hand again.

“Don’t be,” Dex assures him, “you didn’t know.”

They get off, and people start splitting into groups. Troy grumbles about babysitting the rookies. Kent laughs at his expense.

He looks up at Dex, hopeful and expectant. “Where to?”

_/.\\_ 

It takes them ten minutes to weave around crowds and get to the Bellagio. Kent thought Dex was fucking with him when he said he wanted to see the fountains. But then again, Kent had subjected him to a glorified Ferris wheel. He doesn’t make a big deal of how Dex reaches for his hand when the crowds get a little rowdy. The partiers are screaming at the top of their lungs, the protestors are charging with their signs, and Dex pulls him closer. It’s the first time Kent’s ever traversed the strip sober with someone by his side. For once, he doesn’t want to get lost in the crowd. He remembers what it felt like to be sixteen and have a sense of purpose. It’s nice to pretend for a moment that nothing’s changed.

They get there with two minutes until the next show. Kent squeezes them into a spot right in front of the center of the fountain. They get some glares from a few women who were there first.

“Uh,” Dex begins to protest.

“There’s a show every fifteen minutes,” he contends. “If this spot is so fucking important to them they’ll wait here for the next one.”

It’s not exactly great logic, but Dex takes it with a sigh as he leans against the railing. The fountains explode in front of them. The show’s starting. A familiar country hook commences. Kent laughs harder than he has in years.

“No fucking way,” Kent sheds a tear.

“Really? Faith Hill?” Dex scrunches his nose incredulously.

“They wouldn’t stop playing this back in 09,” he laughs harder.

“It was Mary’s favorite song for years,” Will’s sneer deepens. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Wha—no,” Kent whines. “It’s a fun song, c’mon. Give it a shot, ‘baby, hello, oh, no, goodbye. C’mon.”

Dex rolls his eyes, “but you got me like a rocket.”

“That’s the spirit,” Kent grins taking Dex’s shoulders and pulling him in close. “It’s the way you love me. It’s a feeling like this. It’s centrifugal motion—”

“That isn’t even a real force—”

“Did I ask you?” Kent stares at Dex indignantly.

He feels arms wrap around his back, and maybe he blushes. But Dex is chirping him with just his eyes, and Kent thinks he could get used to that. They must’ve missed the first chorus because he hears ‘I’m forever yours’ right as he thinks _fuck it_. He doesn’t have to reach up much as Will’s lips meet his half way. Which lasts all of five seconds before they’re both in stitches.

“Fuck,” Dex let’s go of him to wipe his eye. “Did we really just do that?”

“What have the most romantic kiss in the history of Las Vegas?” Kent waggles his eyebrows. “Probably.”

Will smirks, shaking his head.

“So now what?” Kent frowns.

“What you mean?”

“I mean where are we going after this?”

Dex shrugs, “whatever you want.”

Kent smirks. He doesn’t know what they’re doing. He feels like he’s been falling since he met this guy. It’s weird how months can pass in the blink of an eye; yet three days can feel like centuries. He doesn’t think life without Dex exists. It’s a dangerous thought, he knows that. He doesn’t know what’s more alarming—the idea that he could get attached to someone again or the idea that someone might actually like him. It doesn’t stop him from asking Dex to get an Uber. It doesn’t stop him from putting on _When Harry Met Sally_ and unceremoniously plopping down in Will’s lap. Dex glares half-heartedly, like he expected nothing less. Kent really doesn’t know what they’re doing as they lazily make out.

Dex doesn’t seem to question it, but he pulls back after a while. “Is this what you want?”

Kent straddles his hips. “Yea,” he croaks, going in for another kiss.

His tongue is shoved so far down Will’s throat that he doesn’t think he’ll breathe again. It’s like swimming—suffocating him while washing everything else away. He doesn’t have to imagine a better world where he didn’t break (where Jack didn’t break first). He doesn’t have to pretend that everything’s fine and all of his wandering is working toward something (instead of stalling the inevitable). He doesn’t have to think, just feel.

Kent’s fifteen again, kissing a boy for the first time. He’s slipping into every crevice that Dex will open for him. He’s pouring his soul out, hopping some of it will mix with his. Dex doesn’t have to save him, want to save him, or even love him. But for tonight, he picked Kent. Maybe that’s enough.

_/.\\_

Dex isn’t naïve. Or maybe he is about some things, but not when it comes to the NHL. He knows that Jack gets a lot of shit for being the first out player in the league. He doesn’t…know what he’s doing with Kent. He hadn’t planned on falling asleep in his bed. Dex is mildly dazed when he and Kent end up making out behind a tree half a mile from Troy’s house. He almost expects it when Kent kisses his cheek before they walk into the house.

But then they’re in the doors of the training facility and all the familiarity falls away. It isn’t cruel or cold. Kent doesn’t even act differently than he did yesterday. But Dex feels like they’re eons apart. He imagines reaching for Kent’s hand after they’re done with practice. He doesn’t know what he wants more—Kent or the idea of him.

He keeps his head down, watches his man, and plays well. Will knows this is some of the best hockey he’s ever played. The GM and Coaches are taking notice too. The scrimmages go just fine. Dex is even able to score once and give two assists. Which isn’t bad considering he isn’t a forward. They grab dinner with everyone at this pizza place on the other side of town. Dex makes it a point to nudge Perry in the direction of some of the guys they haven’t really interacted with. Perry’s a social guy and it helps how he leaves room for Dex to comment without forcing him to contribute. He’s clicked with Mateo Perez faster than any other guy he’s ever been paired with. He makes it a point to text Nursey later to say thanks for keeping him grounded.

Troy asks if they’re planning on going out tonight. Kent says they can go ahead without him. Dex feels relieved that he’s not the first person to turn down the invitation. Troy offers them his keys, and Kent drives them back. He puts on some alt rock station, humming under his breath at songs that Dex recognizes loving in middle school. It’s hard to keep the smile from his face. Keeping his distance from Kent throughout the day taught Dex how much Kent’s been an open book for him. They further away from the restaurant they get, the more Kent physically relaxes. The door slams behind Dex. He’s getting pulled down onto the couch. They’re a tangle of limbs, hair, and clothing being awkwardly strewn across the room.

Questions are fumbled through like ‘is this ok’ and ‘how about now’. Dex never got that period of adolescence where he’d have quick hand jobs before his parents go home. He couldn’t afford to think that way with his mind half on his family and half on the future. It wasn’t the same in college, where he could just leave a tie on the door knob to tell Nursey, Chowder, and Farmer to fuck off. There was something exhilarating about the idea of getting caught. He confesses as much to Kent who chuckles as he bites into Will’s collar bone. They clean up, and Kent all but drags him into the pool.

“You haven’t lived until you’ve skinny dipped in a pool,” Kent waggles his eyebrows.

“You’re the expert,” Will deadpans.

He has to admit there’s something different about being skin to skin in the water. There’s something intimate, primal even, about the lack of boundaries between their bodies. Dex winces slightly when his back scrapes against the rough, concrete edge. Kent apologizes, changing positions with him. He feels every bit of Kent’s heart spill into him. He wonders if this is what love feels like, or lust.

By the time they break apart, Will’s hands are no better than raisins. Kent’s craning his neck to look at the clock on the far side of the courtyard. “It’s midnight.”

“How?”

“Time flies,” Kent explains simply. “C’mon let’s go to bed.”

“We’re soaked in chlorine,” he protests.

“You’ve also been submerged in water for what? Hours?”

“I’m showering,” Will declares as he gathers his clothing. He uses his shirt as a towel, dabbing his limbs. “You can come if you want.”

“That’s what she said,” Kent snickers.

Dex tries to suppress his smile. Kent smacks his ass as he runs again. “Last one in’s making breakfast.”

The shower barely fits them both. It’s a lot of creative maneuvering on Kent’s part. But they rinse off relatively quick. They end up in Kent’s room again. Dex thinks as he looks around at the posters of New York and Mexico City, along with the stack of old issues of People on a desk in the corner that it must be Kent’s room. Kent lives here. It isn’t Kent that’s made a pit stop in Dex’s life; it’s the reverse. The only light in the room is coming from the moon peaking in through the shutters. Kent’s tossed him a pair of pajama pants that might fit Dex. Kent throws on a shirt and a new pair of briefs. The shirt is loose in a way that makes it look wrinkled and old. Dex wonders if it’s the shirt that stretched out or Kent who shrunk.

Kent sits in front of him on the bed, starring hesitantly.

“What?” Dex reaches out for his hand.

“Do you want this?” Kent asks neutrally.

“Want what?”

“A spot on the Aces,” he frowns.

“Oh,” Dex’s nose crinkles at the disappointment in his own voice.

“They think you’re a good player,” Kent explains hastily. As if making up for a faux pas. “They already had their sights on Perry. We haven’t had a great d-man pair since Smithy and West.”

“They wanna sign me?”

“Not yet,” Kent shrugs. “They’re thinking about it. All they need is someone with two Cups under their belt and a good coaching record to say you’re worth it.”

“Am I worth it?” Dex winces at the way his voice falters.

“That’s not the question and you know it,” Kent licks his lips.

“Then what is?”

“What you think you’re gonna get out of it?”

Dex shrugs, slumping against the plush headboard. “I didn’t want to go to Samwell. I didn’t even buy into the whole ‘college will save you’ bullshit they fed us in high school.”

“What changed your mind?”

“Hopping they were right.” Dex scrubs his face, “maybe I’d get a good job after and I wouldn’t have to worry about debt. My parents could save up for their retirement. My sisters could move away, go wherever they want.”

“So what’s changed?” Kent asks again, shifting closer.  

Dex huffs, shivering at how good Kent’s hands feel kneading his tense neck. “It’s not my job to save them.”

“Yea,” he agrees.

“I don’t want to go back,” Dex rambles.

“Home? Or to being closeted all the fucking time?”

“Both,” Dex admits for the first time.

Kent’s silent for a moment, continuing to work on the knots in Will’s upper back. “What’s your degree in?”

“Computer Science,” Dex lets out a soft moan.  

“D’you like it?”

“Yea, it’s hard. But in a good way.”

Kent hums. They sit there for a while, bathing in the moonlight. Dex winces when Kent’s fingers dig into his muscles just right. He never thought pain could feel good, necessary even.

“You want kids Dex?”

“Probably.”

“You bi or gay or—”

“I don’t know anymore,” his exhaustion seeps through every word.

“That’s ok,” Kent placates, rolling off his knees and slumping against Dex’s side. “You don’t have to know.”

“I feel like I should,” Will huffs.

“Nah, I guess it doesn’t change what I was gonna say.”

“Which is?”

“You could get out of here. Drive straight until Boston. You could get a fancy corporate job there, find someone normal to marry and have all the kids you want.”

“You make it sound like a jail sentence,” Dex muses.

Kent gives him this weary glance. He moves away from Dex. He falls violently against the pillow next to him. Kent’s facing away from Will. It reminds him of the first day in the car. He was so convinced Kent was going to explode on him. And he didn’t, but there was this tension in his back that tells Dex things are far from ok.

Dex stares at him for a while. He doesn’t know what to do. He can’t apologize for something if he doesn’t know what he did. He doesn’t want to make promises that he can’t keep. It occurs to him that he barely knows this guy. He feels like he’s stuck in the car again with a random stranger he happened to pick up. Not Kent Parson, not Kent who curses in Spanish on ice more than he makes full sentences in English. Not the Kent who keeps painting maybe’s and forever’s into Dex’s heart. He doesn’t know what to do. But then he remembers how much Kent responds to touch. Maybe it won’t amount to anything. It’s worth the effort.

He wraps himself around Kent, kissing the crook of his neck. Kent shudders, crumbling into silent sobs. Dex nudges him to turn over. Kent

“I’m sorry,” Kent murmurs.

“For what?”

“For being—” Kent cuts himself off, “this wasn’t about you.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

“Not really,” Kent answers slowly.

“I won’t make you talk about it, ok?”

“Ok,” Kent bites his lip so hard it begins to turn white.

He doesn’t talk. Dex let’s Kent cling to him until he thinks he’s fallen asleep.

But instead, Kent blinks slowly. Still somber, still raw,  but like he’s coming back into himself.  “You ever read about Oedipus in school?”

“Yea, once.”

“He did everything to escape his fate,” Kent’s eyes don’t leave Dex’s chest.

“I know,” Dex hums.

“What good did that do him?”

Will thinks for a moment. “None,” he concludes, “he killed his father, married his mother, and gouged his eyes out.”

“Spent the rest of his life as a beggar,” Kent rasps. “Making up for being a cocky idiot.”

Dex stares at Kent’s blond hair, memorizing every wavy strand. Kent already admitted to taking his mom’s advice too far. Maybe that’s just how Kent’s mind worked—all or nothing.

“Who says that was your fate?”

“Wasn’t mine,” Kent shrugs. “I was just the loser who had to take his place.”

Dex closes his eyes when Kent’s lips trail down his neck. Each kiss is desperate and insatiable. He didn’t know he could get drunk on another person. He didn’t know he’d ever want to. Dex’s eyes wander to the window. There’s nothing but desert this far into the suburbs. It’s miles of nothingness easing itself around the edges of humanity like a bear trap. He feels both comforted and disturbed by the thought. He wonders what it was like to be 18 in a city he didn’t know surrounded by people who only stood to profit from his every move. He wonders how much Jack meant to Kent that it still haunts him.

He knows on some level Kent is worried about him. Maybe he should be.

“I’m not Jack,” he finds himself arguing.

Kent sighs, nodding. “I keep telling myself that.”

“You think I’m cut out for this?”

“I think anyone would be better off away from this.” Kent gulps, “maybe I’m just selfish.”

 _Find someone normal_ keeps turning in Dex’s mind. On some level, it’s unsettling how quickly they’ve become so much to each other while being nothing at all. Relationships only have meaning if they’re given meaning, however. Will has witnessed his parents’ unhappiness for decades. He watched Bitty give up pieces of himself until he and Jack came out. He watched Ransom do whatever it took to keep him and Holster together. He saw Chowder fall in love with two people and continue to keep them working in harmony with each other. He watched himself fall into the arms of a guy he barely knew. He knows better than to think this could be a long-term thing. But he’d be lying if he didn’t acknowledge that he and Kent are circling each other. There’s so much there, and maybe things won’t work out. But he’s never felt this much about another human being. That should amount to something. Maybe Kent is selfish to not want Dex to go back in the proverbial closet.

“Maybe we both are,” he concludes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly hope you enjoyed their first kiss. It wasn't supposed to go down like that but then again--it's a pretty impulsive scene for an impulsive story


	3. Opinions were like kittens I was giving them away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He gasps, sobbing quietly as he clings to Will like a buoy just before slipping out to sea. Kent isn’t a teenager anymore. This isn’t the liney he fell in love with or the best friend who tried to save him after he couldn’t save his last one. But there’s so much comfort and empathy in a single touch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: mentions of alcohol and self harm (nothing graphic)

Camp the next day goes pretty much the same as before. They guys carpool back to Troy’s place. Kent goes with Dex to buy things for baking. He calls Bitty for advice, which leads to a rather long Facetime call where Bitty demands to see Kent. Kent is a little less than enthused about Bitty chirping his snapback.

“You should’ve gotten that haircut when I offered,” Bitty chides.

“I’ll let you do it when I get back,” Kent compromises.

Bitty hums, clearly unsatisfied. “Dex, honey, make sure you bring him back with you.”

He hadn’t thought that far ahead. But it makes sense. Camp will be over tomorrow, and they’re headed in the same direction. It would, however, break the illusion that they’re two strangers who happened to meet in the middle of nowhere. It would mean carrying whatever this was back into their normal lives. It meant questions and conversations and things that Dex wasn’t ready to consider. The only thing he knew was he was in love with the way Kent’s hand reached for his. He was in love with the way someone could want him.

Kent agreed with a smile that didn’t make it to his eyes. His eyes were grey now. It took Dex until this morning to realize Kent’s eyes change color. Just like Dex didn’t find the cactus tattoo on his ankle or the two Stanley Cups, and various city tattoos littered across his lower back until he was tracing every corner of Kent’s body with his tongue.

They end up calling Bitty again on Troy’s laptop so he can meet the guys who’re already on the Aces. He has his notepad ready to take names and favorite things and allergies because that’s what Bitty does. He walks them through this cronut recipe that’s definitely against their meal plans. Only one of the college guys complains.

“Life’s too short to always follow your meal plan,” Dex argues so well that it almost sounds like he came up with the line.

Kent hip checks him lightly. As if to say ‘I’m here. I understand. I appreciate you.’ There’s some talk of doing a drinking game. Everyone enthusiastically agrees, except for Kent who’s pretending to be busy putting on _Mulan_.  Dex saves just enough space on the couch for Kent to sit next to him. Kent finds a way to sink into the corner of the couch and prop his feet in Dex’s lap. He has a glass of water in hand but only Dex can tell it’s not alcohol. It’s calculated and nuanced the way he makes the situation platonic enough to be bro-y while still incredibly intimate. Dex’s gaze flickers around the room, the only person who seems to bat an eyelash at them is Troy. They exchange looks for a moment. Jeff’s eyes betray a weariness as well as acceptance. Troy’s seen this before, there’s no pretense of being platonic. He doesn’t look like he’s appalled or outraged, just concerned. It probably has more to do with Dex than Kent, but Dex can’t figure out why.

Sometime halfway (and many drinks) into the movie, most of the guys are chirping each other louder and louder. Kent’s all but in his lap, and no one seems to notice. Kent’s chirping the shit out of the rookies but they’re eating it up. The entire room is a chorus of laughter and comradery. The air is thick with the scent of booze, popcorn, and cronuts. Dex vaguely recalls wanting something like this in high school—fast friends that didn’t treat him like he had a stick up his ass or a warning label that said ‘damaged, keep away’.

Kent’s ease, however, is unusual. He’s made himself a perfect chameleon among the masses. It calms Dex’s anxiety of being found out. Kent’s been doing this much longer than he has. Then again, that’s what bothers Will the most. It’s not about how Kent knows how to do this. It’s about the fact that Kent’s used to hiding around NHL players. It’s that his demeanor is so different around them as opposed to when it’s just him, Dex and Troy. He plasters a media smile so wide with clenched teeth that must ache. Dex isn’t the nurturing type, not by a long shot. But every time Kent’s façade cracks—every time he’s a little less chipper and a little cruder—it makes Dex want to hold him and never let go. Because really, what does he know about helping people? They aren’t machines that can be tuned up after a simple diagnostic. Someone does catch them, however, and makes a chirp about Kent looking like a puck bunny. Dex feels him stiffen, but it doesn’t stop easy chirps Kent volleys back. He plays the role of straight douchebag perfectly, no one questions them further. Dex hardly notices the way Kent slips away a few minutes later, throwing out some comment about taking a shit as he leaves.

_/.\\_

Kent thinks about locking himself in his bathroom. He thinks if he were being smart, he’d take a scolding shower. The heat would smack against his body until he could rouse himself into some semblance of normalcy. But that would raise some concerns. Eventually Troy would come looking for him, and that wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have again. It was hard enough convincing Jeff that he was ok. Things were getting better. He wasn’t as bad as he was three years ago. That has to be worth something.

He finds himself dwelling on Jeff for a while. He worked so fucking hard not to fall in love with him. There were so many bad days when all he wanted to do was climb into bed with him and never leave. But Jack’s timid reluctance kept flickering through his mind. Then the nightmares got worse. It was a lot to keep it together. Half the time he couldn’t pull that off; either he was pushing Troy away or clinging too tight. There was no in between and Kent hated how fucking tired his best friend looked when he didn’t know what to do next. Kent had been sick of disappointing him. He’d been sick of being an imposter in his own life. Kent was nothing better than Jack’s second rate replacement. He couldn’t even do that right. Kent’s convinced that Jack would’ve been in Vegas all along if it weren’t for him. A part of him knows he’s been through this internal monologue before—they just were kids. But it didn’t really matter what made sense when he got worked up like this.

The desert is a black abyss waiting to swallow him whole once more. It’s cruel and ruthless, but it welcomes him like the piece of shit he is. It’s taunting him with everything he could’ve been, everything he should be. So much untapped potential—wasted on a brittle and scathed landscape. Vegas was nothing more than a mirage preying on the weak and greedy. Kent once thought he could overcome it all. It was naïve to think he’d come home a hero; that maybe he’d save himself and Zimms.

But that was ages ago. That was years, and miles, and too many jumps ago. He says jumps as if he jumped more than the one time. Once was enough, more than enough. He still kept tally of every almost, though. Because sometimes he needed to remind himself that he was capable of good things. Every almost was another time his mom wouldn’t blame herself; another panic attack Eric wouldn’t have to help Jack through; another tear his sister Izzy wouldn’t shed for him; another day Jeff wouldn’t be left thinking ‘what if’.  Kent knows he hates himself less than he did yesterday. It happens a little bit at a time, like a graft merging with the tissue of his battered heart. That didn’t mean there weren’t setbacks. It didn’t mean he didn’t feel like breaking his arm or punching himself until he felt as bad on the outside as he did on the inside.

 “What are you doing up here,” Dex calls from behind him.

Kent feels himself shrug. “Just—thinking about heights.”

He doesn’t bother to turn to Dex. He’s not lying, and he’s not over exaggerating. That should be enough.

 **“** You wanna talk about it?”

Kent shakes his head. “It’s dumb.”

“You should still talk about it,” Dex insists.

There’s a flash of anger running down Kent’s spine. He hates being patronized. He tries taking a deep breath, reminding himself that there was nothing insulting about what Dex said. Objectively, Dex was trying to help. Objectively, he’d done nothing wrong. He takes a deep breath.

Kent leans over the wall again, staring at the ground below. The last thing he wants to do is talk about it. It’s so much fucking effort trapezing over every word meticulously. Conversations were a mind field and he really can’t imagine it going well.

But because he’s great at fucking himself over, Kent finds himself rambling quietly. “It’s not much—maybe a twisted ankle or bruised side. I keep thinking about the last time I fell, and then time before that. People cared, right? I’m still—I’m here. Someone cared.”

Dex reaches out to squeeze his shoulder. Kent flinches, ducking out of the touch. He doesn’t deserve sympathy. And he doesn’t deserve a pat on the back because he can’t deal with being the poster child for failed hockey careers.

 “I’m just…” Kent’s voice falters. “Staring—too afraid to jump and too afraid to leave.”

Dex’s arms appear in the periphery of Kent’s sight as they both lean over the edge. Kent thinks he could hold Dex’s hand and maybe that would help. A few inches shouldn’t be much, but it’s as vast as space itself.

“What can I do?”

“Nothing, it’s fine. It’ll pass.” He repeats sternly, mostly to himself.

“It’s not nothing,” Dex argues.

“But it is,” Kent insists. “It’s me blowing shit out of proportion. It’s me thinking ‘I could just sit here forever’ and then thinking ‘fuck that’s fucked up.’”

He realizes after he’s said it that he doesn’t mean the skydeck. He means being with Dex. Whatever that means.

Will clears his throat. “Why?”

“Because I barely know you,” he rasps.

Kent feels the way the edges of his face tingle. He buries his head in his forearms. They stay like that for a while. Dex doesn’t make a move to comfort him. It’s a relief that Kent doesn’t have to pretend to be able to talk—or breathe for that matter.

“I can’t help you if I don’t know what you need from me,” Dex admits quietly.

“I don’t either.” Kent swallows thickly, gasping for air. “I don’t know what’s too much or not enough. I can’t ask for shit. I can’t make one person responsible for all…of this. I know it’s stupid. I know it’s nothing. I keep telling myself it’s nothing. I keep—screaming at myself not to get too attached. You—can’t be responsible for me. I’ve seen how it goes. I’m lucky Jeff still talks to me.”

“You’re upset because of me?” Dex rephrases.

“Fuck no,” he scrubs his face furiously. “That didn’t come out right. Fuck—I’m upset about nothing. It’s not your job to talk me off the ledge. I’m fine.”

He’s fine, he tells himself for the hundredth time that day. He hates himself less today, and he’s still kicking. He should be proud of himself for not cracking, for not jumping. Maybe Kent will remind himself of that in the morning. Maybe he’ll believe it.

 “Can I hug you?” Dex asks softly.

“If you want to.” He doesn’t want to say _please_ ; _I want you;_ or _I think I could get used to needing you_. He tries to leave his voice neutral. He tries to give Dex an opportunity to back out.

Arms wind around his shoulders, pulling him up gently. His face melts into the cotton of Dex’s t shirt; it smells like sweat and alcohol and too much cinnamon. He gasps, sobbing quietly as he clings to Will like a buoy just before slipping out to sea. Kent isn’t a teenager anymore. This isn’t the liney he fell in love with or the best friend who tried to save him after he couldn’t save his last one. But there’s so much comfort and empathy in a single touch. Kent doesn’t love Dex. He tells himself not to get attached.

But for once, he could want something as simple as a hug. For once, maybe he could just ask and receive.

_/.\\_  

Dex wakes up the next morning to soft kisses in bed. Kent is taking every inch of him in like Dex is the most precious thing he’s ever seen. Kent smiles at him like they’ve been together for years, and he’s still so happy. Dex sighs calmly. They aren’t in love. They aren’t even a real thing. It’s been this crazy roller coaster of falling into someone so intensely that he can’t remember where he ends and Kent begins.

He arches up, capturing Kent’s lips. Their lips smack, and Dex can feel their teeth clank. They laugh because it’s awkward and unromantic. Dex isn’t in love. But Kent makes him wish he knew what that was like.

 “I’m sorry,” Kent murmurs as he runs his lips over the planes of Dex’s cheek. “I really appreciate what you did for me last night.”

“That’s ok,” Dex responds slowly. Because he gets it. Or maybe he doesn’t understand it completely. But Kent is clearly nuerodivergent. He can relate to that. He can understand trying so hard to keep yourself together. But still—

“No, I mean it, Dex. I know it can be a lot. You—really helped.”

“I’m glad,” he reaffirms, running his fingers across the length of Kent’s back. “I wanted to help. You don’t have to struggle on your own.”

Kent snorts, “so I’m told.”

“Look you can tell me to fuck off,” Dex sighs. “But have you seen a therapist?”

He stares at Dex long and hard. His gaze is intense yet indecipherable. Kent finally blinks, breaking eye contact and rolling back to his side of the bed. “I know I have something. I—I used to think ‘it’s all in my head, I’m just pretending to have problems’. And I guess that’s true. But like—the day I figured out that there has to be something ‘wrong’ with me, was like the biggest relief ever. It made it easier.”

“Easier for what?”

Kent shrugs. “Easier to handle how I feel. Easier to look up shit about how to cope.”

“That’s good,” _but that’s not enough_.

Kent bites down on both of his lips. “Like—I know I need to see someone. I know my life would be easier if I just did that already.”

“But…”

“But then I’m ok for a little while and I think ‘fuck, I’m great. I don’t need help.’ And then next thing I know, I’m freaking the fuck out and on a train to Houston because they’ve been on a losing streak and they can’t be sick of me yet.”

“Sick of you,” Dex repeats in disbelief.

“Yea, I think Holster handed my ass to me when I tried explaining that,” Kent smirks acerbically. “I can’t rely on other people too much so I space out when I ask who for shit and how much I keep in contact with people. ‘Cuz if I’m not around doing shit they’ll eventually realize how shitty I am.”

“That’s—”

“Mental? I know. I’m—working on it.”

Mental wasn’t the word he was looking for. Honestly, Dex isn’t one to judge. He used to never go into rooms if the door was less than half open. He spent months in denial about his PTSD. It wasn’t until Mary all but shoved him into the car, which was just an excuse to get him to admit that he needed help. Which he appreciates now, but—

“Do you hate when people tell you to get help?”

“A little,” Kent huffs. “I try to back off and really listen to them. But sometimes all I hear is someone trying to control me. Which sucks when you can barely trust your own family.”

“Is that why—you do this?”

“Kinda.” Kent flops back against his pillow, staring at the ceiling.  “If I’m not around they can’t worry about whether I’m having a bad day or not.”

“Kent, that’s…not how people work.”

Kent nods, “I know it’s not enough. I’m getting there.”

Part of Dex wants to tell him he’s doing better than he thinks. That maybe it isn’t enough, but Kent’s tried to do so much on his own and it’s impressive. But he gets feeling disappointed in yourself. He also knows there’s so much about people that Kent doesn’t understand and doesn’t trust. So maybe if Parse can’t even trust his best friends or his mom to be looking out for him, he won’t want any interference from a random guy he met on the road. Still, whatever they have together isn’t typical and doesn’t feel casual. Even if it’s temporary, Dex doesn’t want to feel like there’s more he could’ve done for someone who’s been looking out for him since day one.

Dex leans over, carding his curly blond locks a few times. “Maybe when we get back, you can look into some places.”

Kent stares at him again. His lips stretch into something more morose than a smile, but it’s raw and sincere. Dex is more inclined to believe the resignation in his face than any smile he’s flashed at Troy. It’s not much, but it’ something.

“Maybe,” Kent replies firmly. His eyes get wet around the corners.

It’s not a yes, but almost a promise. That’s probably the best that Kent can offer. Dex wonders at what point do they stop living out of each other’s pockets, and go back to the real world.

“What now?”

“I think you have some Aces to wipe the floor with,” Kent waggles his eyebrows.

Dex laughs, genuinely laughs.

_/.\\_

Dex’s team ends up winning the tournament. The GM, AGM and Coaches shake the players’ hands at the end. They make a point of telling Dex they’ll be in touch with his agent. He isn’t sure how to feel about being a professional hockey player. But he has time to think about it. And at least he knows where he stands. He has a team if it wants it.

He says goodbye to the guys who were on his team. He exchanges numbers with Perry, and makes him promise not to be a stranger. They may hug. It feels like the first in a long line of good byes on the way to adulthood. College has been one long sleep away camp. There’s so many people he wishes he could keep in the same city forever, even the same building if he could hack it. Because Dex is sentimental, and a bit shitty about keeping up with people. Perry promises to kick his ass next time Boston College plays Samwell. Dex chuckles, saying ‘we’ll see.’

Troy takes him and Kent to this Brazillian steak house because Dex has never had chicken hearts and apparently, that’s a travesty. Troy regales Dex with stories from when Kent was captain and they were both just starting out. Kent’s arm links with Dex’s on their way back to the car. Troy doesn’t bat an eyelash. Dex wonders how long he’s been keeping his opinions to himself.

The three of them watch movies when they get back. Kent sits in the middle of the couch with his head on Jeff’s shoulder and his legs stretched across Dex’s lap. He messages Dex’s hand, as if he knew how sore they were. Then Dex remember that he played hockey for years, so of course he would. At some point, Jeff says something about hitting the sack. Kent makes it a point to hug him long and hard. Dex wonders how often they get to see each other or talk—especially with Kent’s fucking technology hang up. He wonders if he just asked him, would he get a phone. He wonders how many times Kent’s mom asked him to stay, asked him to take care of himself. He wonders how often Kent’s actually listened.

They go to bed around one am. Dex doesn’t want this to have been for nothing. He still feels like he barely knows the guy. He has a few days to change that.

They get up at the crack of dawn to pack up their things. Dex doesn’t have to do much since his room was left relatively untouched. Kent, on the other hand, has a gigantic mess to clean up. Dex chirps him about it, to which Kent shrugs.

“It’s like a statement.”

Dex crinkles his nose. “What are you saying?”

“That I won’t run away.” Kent’s eyes shine with something like pride.

Troy makes them eggs and talks in hushed tones to Kent about things to remember.

“And make sure you text me, Dex,” Troy instructs. “I don’t wanna hear from the news that you got eaten by a bear or some shit like that.”

Dex agrees as Kent squawks about being too small to eat. They load their stuff into the backseat of Dex’s Jeep. Kent hugs Jeff for well over five minutes. There’s a long exchange of mutters, and Dex tries not to eavesdrop. But there’s a lot of ‘take care of yourself’s and ‘you too’s. There’s a lot of ‘I love you’s thrown around too. Kent hops into the passenger seat and Jeff turns to shake Dex’s hand.

“Thanks for having his back,” Troy smiles warmly.

“Hey, it’s not problem,” Will assures him. “I—it’s been good.”

He nods, smiling hesitantly. “Call me—or Bitty—if you help talking to him. And here—” he hands Dex an envelope.

“What’s—”

“Emergency money,” Jeff says a little quieter. “I know Kent’s got a debit card on him. But in case something happens and you need a little extra, there.”

“Thanks but—”

“You don’t have to use it,” Jeff clarifies. “You can just hand it back to me later. It’s just—I’d rather be safe than sorry y’know?”

“Yea,” Dex nods.  “I do.”

Jeff ends up hugging him. Dex embraces him tightly. He didn’t expect a week to change his life so much. He still doesn’t know if he’s going to sign with a team. But if he did, he wouldn’t mind having Troy as his captain. They pull out of the driveway. Kent waves at Jeff from his rolled down window. He yells endearments at Jeff until they’re out of earshot. The waves until they’re out of the neighborhood. Once they’re finally out of Vegas, Kent slumps back in his seat.

“So,” he asks with a mischievous grin, “where to next?”

_/.\\_

Kent knows the easy answer is ‘home, duh.’ Dex says as much.

“Look, we can have you in Boston or Maine in two days, tops,” he contends. “The question is—do you need to be there in two days?”

Dex adjusts the incline of his seat. “I gave myself a week to get there.”

“Perfect,” Kent declares. “I’ve got some ideas in mind.”

“Like what?”

“Like enjoying some points on the northern route,” Kent purses his lips. “I-40 is the shit, but I almost never get to through the mountains.”

“Why?”

“Gee hitchhiking on miles of unincorporated road with no sidewalks,” he snarks. “I don’t know, Dexy.”

“Fine,” Will rolls his eyes. “Where’re we going?”

“So I heard about these hot springs in Utah…” he pitches.

“No.”

“Why not?” Kent whines.

Dex glares wearily. “What do you even do in them? It’s a glorified bath.”

“Two points Mr. Stoic,” Kent holds up his fingers. “Point A, it’s fucking amazing to loosen sore muscles after—I don’t know—playing pro level hockey for a week. Point 2—”

“That’s not—”

“I know what I said,” Kent stops him sharply. “Point 2, what else is there to do in Utah?”

“Who says we have to do something in Utah?”

“The guy who’s been to every goddamn state except Utah,” he crosses his arms indignantly. 

“You’re kidding,” Dex's jaw slacks. 

“Nope,” he emphasizes the 'p' for good measure.

Dex grunts, relenting. “You’re navigating.”

“I can do that.” Kent flashes a confident smirk.

It’s three hours to the springs. Kent may have intentionally neglected to mention they were called mystic springs. Mostly because Dex seemed like the kind of guy to protest anything that was marketed as mystical or magical. Kent dozes off somewhere along the state line. Dex nudges him awake when they get to a gas station.

“Need anything?” Dex inquires.

Kent stretches, groaning as he does. “Snacks? I’ll grab my wallet—”

“You don’t have—”

“You’re let me drag you to Utah,” Kent argues as he reaches into the back for his knapsack. “C’mon, I promised to pay for snacks remember.”

“That was Reno,” he reminds Kent. 

Kent wants to argue not much has changed since Reno. However, that couldn’t be further from the truth. He wants to argue that he could pay for a fucking private jet if Dex wanted to be home in a heartbeat. The thought of home and Dex in the same sentence makes his heart stutter. He knows that Dex gets what it’s like to not grow up with a lot—to scrounge for most things, and to feel like a failure for needing help. If Kent mentions anything about money, he’s sure Dex will snub him at best, resent him at worst.

“Buy me an ICEE?” he deflects simply.

Dex rolls his eyes, but accepts the card that Kent hands him.

He comes back a few minutes later carrying two large ICEEs and a bag of salt & vinegar chips.

Kent feels his eyes practically bulge out of the it sockets. “How’d you know I love these?”

“It’s a weird flavor, but great if that’s what you’re into,” he surmises. 

Kent rip the bag open as Dex starts the car. He stuffs a handful of chips into his mouth to disguise his blush.

“And is that something you’re into?” Kent ventures to ask.

“It’s growing on me." The corner of Will'smouth twitches upward.

Kent doesn’t remember the last time he smiled like such an idiot. He takes a long sip of the Coke ICEE. He glances at Dex whose frowning. He doesn’t get why until he notices the other ICEE is a bright green color.

“This is yours isn’t it,” he holds out the Coke ICEE in front of him.

“Yep,” Dex raises his eyebrows in amusement.

“Well it tastes great,” Kent assures him with the most artificial confidence he can muster.

“I know," Dex clicks his tongue, "that’s why I chose it.”

“Here,” Kent leans over the console, puckering his lips. “You can have it back.”

“Gross,” Dex crinkles his nose.

Yet he still turns enough for Kent to kiss him. It feels…normal, like the Vegas spell hasn’t worn off yet. Kent wonders when it’ll go to shit. But for now, he’ll just enjoy the ride.

_/.\\_

Dex should’ve expected bathtubs in the middle of the desert. Or rather, of course hot springs is code for ‘sharing public bathtubs in your swim trunks.’ Kent drags him to the hottest tubs and they soak for a good half an hour. He feels himself drifting into a nap when someone starts poking him in the temple.

“Stop,” he mutters.

“Let’s try the deep pool before we leave,” Kent suggests.

“Why?” Dex protests.

“Because you’re stupidly attractive and I’m horny as fuck,” his tone is blunt and unapologetic.

“We’re not doing it in a fucking hot spring, Parse." Will shuts his eyelids tighter, if that's even possible.

“That’s not what I said."

“It’s what you meant.”

“Fine,” he relents.  “But I’m going in. You should come too because it'll be fun.”

Dex lets him saunter off, cracking an eye open to admire the tattoos on his lower back and the way his ass is still a hockey player’s dream. He soaks for another few minutes before going to find Kent. He was worried about him stewing at Dex’s rejection. But he looks good surrounded by murky water, terracotta rocks, and shrubbery—peaceful even. Dex thinks to himself that Kent would look good anywhere. He shakes his head, remembering that this was a summer fling at most. It wasn’t even for the summer. It was a few more days of pretending that someone could want him as badly as Kent does. Maybe he could just enjoy that.

He wades into the hot spring.  

“Hey,” Kent grins like Dex just won a marathon. “You didn’t run out and come back in fifty times.”

“It’s a hot spring,” he deadpans.

“Right,” Kent blushes. “Guess I forgot.”

Somehow Parse pulls him into playing Marco Polo of all things. Dex catches him easily enough the first time. Then Kent finally catches him, he kisses Dex’s chest playfully. It occurs to Dex there that maybe Kent latches onto people who will let him be affectionate. He’s momentarily convinced that Kent just needs a body to keep him warm. But then he’s chirping Dex to put more sunscreen on before his skin gets redder than his hair. The worried wince that comes with his half-hearted chuckle tells Dex that Kent cares a whole fucking lot what happens to Dex. It’s equal parts relieving and terrifying.

They stop in Green River, Utah for lunch. The town is small. It’s likely that they have fast food places just for the convenience of people traveling along I-70. Kent insists on taking a turn to drive. 

“How much did you even sleep last night,” Kent points out.

Dex grumbles, “fine.”

Kent plugs in his MP3 player before peeling out of the Subway parking lot.

“Scale of 1 to 10, how much would singing piss you off?”

“Zero if you aren’t tone deaf,” Dex admits.

Kent's head turns so fast it makes Dex's neck sore. “Seriously?”

“Yea my roommate and his girlfriend sing a lot,” Will explains as he adjusts that passenger's seat to fit his legs.

“Oh a roommate,” Kent whoops. “Tell me about him.”

So Dex tells him all about Nursey. He starts with their freshman year rivalry and how they learned to listen to each other. He tells Kent about how clumsy Derek is and how often that’s gotten them in trouble. He shares game stories too, and how they were voted co-captains. He complains briefly that it should’ve gone to Chowder but he’s a goalie.

“Wait and Chowder’s the dude who lives in California?”

“Yea."

“So what’s he like?" Kent poorly masks the excitement in his voice. 

Dex isn’t used to talking this much. But there’s something about the way Kent frames his questions, and acts genuinely interested, that makes him want to tell him everything and anything. At some point he moves away from Chowder’s pre game rituals and quirks into a rant about how loud he and Derek get in the shower some mornings.

“I thought Nurse had a girlfriend,” Kent frowns.

“Yea, Farmer, she’s dating him and Chris. And they’re dating each other.”

“Your team has a thing with falling in love with each other,” he concludes neutrally.

“Not the entire time,” Dex argues. “Just the assholes I hang out with.”

Kent snorts, breaking the conversation to belt out the chorus of “Little Talks”.

Dex falls asleep soon after that, stirring occasionally from the sound of Kent singing. They arrive in Grand Junction, Colorado around three. Kent talks Dex into taking a hike on one of the nearby trails. Kent insists on taking their water bottles and he just happens to have a ton of protein bars. Then Dex remembers that he’s used to not knowing when he’ll get his next ride into civilization and that protein bars are probably essential to his eccentric life style. The idea that Kent could hop on a plain to Hawaii tomorrow if he felt like it irks Dex. Then again, if this week has taught him anything, it’s that Kent doesn’t like the idea of having too much money any more than Dex has. Even more so, Kent is clearly convinced that he doesn’t deserve to spend a dime of his money on himself.

Then Kent grabs his back pack and Dex stupidly asks what he’s doing.

“Grabbing my shit for hiking,” Kent frowns. 

“You don’t need all that for hiking,” he insists.

“Yea I do,” Kent's voice raises.

Dex's volumes subconsciously rises to match his. “It’s just dead weight, leave it in the car.”

Parse glares at him long and hard, his fists clenched at his sides. “Ok,” he mutters finally. Kent puts it back in the back seat. He slams the door hard, hitting his finger in the process.

“Shit,” he hisses.

Dex reaches for him.

“Don’t,” Kent warns. “Let’s go.”

They spend most of the hike in silence. Kent’s mood betters the further they get away from the car. He insists on carrying all of their stuff in his hands—as if he doesn’t have pockets or that Dex could carry his own water bottle. The trail is littered with trees as far as they can see. It makes for good shade from the sun. Kent still stops them about three miles in to reapply sunscreen. He pulls a small bottle out of nowhere. He squeezes some into Dex’s hand with a defiant glare. There’s so much flitting across his face; so many things Kent is holding back.

“What,” Dex asks tiredly.

“Nothing,” Kent lies with a straight face.

“It’s not nothing,” he says as if he's never said it before. As if he doesn't already feel like he's been saying it for far too long.

He expects Kent to put up a fight. He doesn’t expect Kent to rest his forehead on Dex’s chest. They both take a couple deep breaths. 

“It’s not dead weight,” Kent says finally.  “It has my entire life in it.”

That was the last thing Dex was expecting to hear. “What—”

“And yea, it’s a fucking security blanket so maybe I didn’t need to take it." He flinches slightly. “I’m sorry I snapped. But I’m not sorry that I still wish I had it on me.”

He’s talking about the knapsack. Kent’s apologizing and talking things through. Dex wonders how many times he’s told people he was upset over nothing and they just let it drop. He tries to hug Kent, mindful of the sunblock in his hand.

Kent shakes his head.“You don’t have to comfort me.”

“Maybe I want to,” Will reminds him.

Kent nods, “ok.”

Dex clears his throat, “you don’t have to know what to ask for. But I need you to answer my questions so we can talk shit out.”

“Ok,” he agrees.

“And not just with ‘it’s nothing’—”

“I get it,” Kent’s voice cracks. “Fuck, I get it. Can you stop over explaining shit?”

“I’m—” Dex stops himself from starting another argument. “Ok, sorry.”

They take a break at one of the lakes along the trail. Dex almost passes out from exhaustion. Kent hands him his water bottle.

“Take it,” he commands gently. "You’re not used to high altitudes.”

Dex complies, chugging the majority of his water.

“Stop, you’ll throw up that way. Slow sips.”

They sit in the grass for a while after that. The clouds fly so low that they’re practically touching the peaks. The breeze is refreshing but light. Dex could get used to dry heat. Kent lets Dex use his head as a pillow. Kent wraps an arm around Dex’s waist. It’s a pleasant change of pace.

“You have your phone on you,” Kent asks after a while.

“Yea, why?”

“Let’s get some pictures."

Dex sighs, pulling his phone out of his pocket. Kent loves selfies. But then Kent starts snapping pictures of the scenery, and then of Dex looking bemused at the camera.

Kent pouts, “what?”

“We need a picture of us,” he decides in that moment.

Kent shrugs, turning around so the lake can be the in background. He adjusts Dex accordingly so the scenery isn’t blocked by them both trying to fit in the frame. Dex hates disingenuous smiling in photos.

“Smile,” Kent orders.

Dex gets an idea. “Just count to three.”

Kent rolls his eyes, “fine, on three. One, Two—”

“Three,” Dex kisses Kent’s cheek as the shutter sound goes off on his phone.

Kent blinks at him.

“How was that?"

“Pretty good,” Kent murmurs. He’s staring down at the picture on Dex’s phone. “We look—”

“Happy,” Dex supplies.

“I was gonna say ‘like doofuses’," Kent chortles. "But yours sounds better.”

Dex snorts as he stands up. He offers Kent a hand and they head back toward their car. It’s dinner time when they’re finally back. Kent suggests they grab something in town and head to Glenwood Springs.

“Why there?”

“It’s closer to Denver—which should be a day in itself. But also they have a white water rafting park and this hug hot spring spa.”

“Then what was the point of the springs in Utah?”

“Dexy, Dexy, Dexy,” Kent tsks, “no two springs are alike. And it’s a hotel.”

“How are we—” he stops himself. Because of course Kent will pay for his crazy idea. It bothers Dex, but he reminds himself that Kent doesn’t ask for things. This is Kent asking. “Ok.”

“Ok?” Kent balks.

“You’re driving,” Dex insists. Because he knows Kent won’t accept his offer easily. He’ll argue Will just wants to appease him. Giving him some condition shows that Dex is serious about accepting this plan.

Kent agrees without much protest. Dex spends more time napping. Kent’s chattering and humming is soothing. Glenwood Springs takes an hour to reach. The concierge takes their request for a room without much fuss. When she asks how many beds they would like, Kent flinches. He turns to Dex.

“It’s up to you," Kent mutters.

Dex suppresses the urge to roll his eyes. Maybe they aren’t in love. But it’s not as if he hasn’t spent the better part of a week enjoying sleeping with another person. Even if that meant the increase risk of getting pushed, elbowed, overheated, or the sheer noise of Kent taking a shower in the middle of the night.

“One bed, thanks,” he tells the concierge gruffly.

Their room is nicer than what Dex would’ve shelled out to pay, and the view is amazing. Dinner’s quiet and subdued. It’s been a long day of just being forced together. Dex still appreciates Kent, still enjoys spending time with Kent. But it’s nice that when Dex doesn’t want to talk at the moment, all he had to do was ask.

“Hey I’m gonna go down to the spring pool before it closes,” Kent mentions when they get back to their room.

“Do you want me to come with?” he asks neutrally.

Kent shrugs, averting his eyes. “I want you to do what you want.”

Dex nods. He’s good with spending more time with Kent. But he wants Kent to comfortable, and for them to be on the same page. “Ask me.”

“Will, would you go with me to the hot springs so I’m not a loser standing there alone and I can kiss your stupid face?”

He smirks, “sure.”

Kent makes a sound of protest, but Dex kisses him before he can argue further.

The hot springs at the resort are more like a luxury pool. It’s definitely nicer than the public bathtubs in Utah. Dex doesn’t remember when was the last time he spent the day outside like this. The sun is setting behind the mountains. It feels like they’re in a different world from Vegas. It feels like they’ve been together forever, and this is just another stop on their journey.

“I could get used to a place like this,” Kent groans as he leans against the edge of the pool.

“Bet you’d buy a log cabin here,” Dex muses.

Kent raises his eyebrows, “maybe? Fuck, I hadn’t thought of that.”

Dex purses his lips. “What’s your dream house?”

“A tiny house," Kent answers automatically.

“Of course,” he snorts.

“Ok Dexy." Kent narrows his eyes, smirking defiantly. “What does 'of course' mean? Enlighten me.”

“I don’t know,” he leans forward, resting his jaw against the edge of the pool. “It must get old asking for rides and NHL players to billet you.”

“Yea actually.”

“You’d have to buy a car,” Dex tilts his head back, starring at sunset. 

“Or you could just come with me,” he counters. 

“Ken—”

“I’m joking, I swear. I wouldn’t ask you to do that,” he revises insistently. 

“Ok," Dex believes him because he has to.

He has to take Kent's word for it that he isn't already plotting a life for them. Just like he has to just listen and try to understand everything that Kent throws his way. For as much as Kent complicates his plan, Dex doesn't feel like he's being hindered by the idea of them. In fact, quite the opposite. He wonders what it would be like a few years down the line. To be traveling not with a semi random friend of a friend that he picked up on the side of the road, but rather, someone he really cared about. He thinks cared about would've putting it lightly. He thinks even now he's kidding himself. 

“You know,” Dex interrupts their silence. “You could come with me.”

Kent spins around to meet his gaze. “Where?”

“Wherever,” Dex offers as if it were so simple. But maybe it is, he argues to himself. “You could just pick a place on a map and we could live there for a while. Move somewhere new when we get bored.”

Kent smiles sadly. “Maybe.”

Dex’s brows furrow.

“Maybe when you’re done with school,” Parse continues. “Maybe after I get my shit together.”

Dex’s mouth twitches. It isn’t a no.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I literally pick the worst times to post. Also, originally this was supposed to be the max word count (and there's still two more chapters to go he he he)


	4. I had a drink the other day. I had a lot to say

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His fingernails dig a little deeper, the back of his throat closes up. But it doesn’t matter because Ma is laughing, and Izzy isn’t as untrusting as before. Dex’s freckled smile is a galaxy of everything he forgot he didn’t deserve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: mentions of alcohol, mentions of self loathing 
> 
> it's pretty tame today, folks. Enjoy your angst.

Kent wakes up the next morning in a better mood. The day before had been a trapeze act of remembering how to not pile everything onto one person. Dex took it like a real trooper, and something about the way Kent woke up made him think today would be easier.

“What if I get a tattoo in Denver,” he muses out loud fifteen minutes after they’ve hit the road.

Dex frowns, keeping his eyes neutrally on the road ahead. “Of what?”

“The mountains, what else?”

“Why?”

“Why not?”

Dex gives him an unimpressed scowl.

“It’s nice getting new tattoos,” Kent explains while running his fingers gently against his New York tattoo. “It’s like an autobiography y’know?”

“Did you get one in California?” Will counters patiently.

“Nah,” he yawns. “I got one the first time I was there.”

Dex is quiet, hopefully mulling it over. “How long would a tattoo take?”

“Two hours? Probably,” Kent admits.

“Probably?” Dex’s voice pitches.

Kent shrugs somewhat frantically. “After a consult and y’know, assuming it’s just a basic black and white.”

“You don’t even know where to go for this,” Will argues.

“Let me borrow your phone.”

“I don’t have unlimited data—”

“How often do you call people?”

“Almost never,” he stares at Kent like he’s grown a second head.

“Cool, I’ll use up your minutes,” Kent makes it sound like he’s doing him a favor.

Dex balks. “What century are you even from?”

Kent cackles as he grabs his pocket book from his bag. It takes him forty minutes, and a fuck ton of phone calls, but he tracks some people down who know parlors in the area. Then he calls five different places to see who takes walks-in or would be willing to accept an appointment today.

“I’m about an hour away,” he tells an artist over the phone.

“Do you know what you want?” She asks, “I could get a stencil started right now.”

“Yea, I can give you what I generally have in mind,” me flips through his book to the end notes. He knows himself well enough to make a quick sketch before trying to describe it to her. “My buddy Angela says your black worth stuff is incredible so I’ll be happy with whatever you come up with.”

By the time they’re in Denver, Kent’s thrumming with excitement. The stencil is this gorgeous illustration of mountains with a pine tree in the foreground. He was originally going to get it on his back, but it was too important. And Kent would be himself if he didn’t go all out.

“What do you think Dexy, left arm or right?”

Dex tilts his head, squinting his eyes. “Right. So, it’ll flow with the skyline.”

Kent hums cheerfully, “that sounds good to me, what you think, Mariah?”

“I can work with that,” Mariah, the tattoo artist, agrees.

It takes two and a half hours to finish with all the textures she adds. Half way through, Kent notices the longing in Dex’s eager yet weary expression.

“You wanna get one?”

Dex gapes.

“It’s ok if you want one,” Kent assures him.

“We’re pretty slow today,” Mariah admits. “Two of our appointments cancelled. I could get Sasha back here.”

Dex frowns, eyes squinting and hesitant, “people don’t just get tattoos.”

“Uh yea they do,” Kent argues. “But don’t just get one because I’m in the chair. Do it because you have something you wanna express for the whole world to see.”

Dex purses his lips. “Ok.”

“I’ll get her,” Mariah says as she wipes Kent’s tattoo again and discards her gloves.

“You serious about this?” Kent asks when she’s left the room.

“People get tattoos together,” Dex reasons.

“Hey, don’t go stealing my design,” Kent feigns offense.  

Dex rolls his eyes jokingly.

Dex’s takes another two hours to complete. In the end, it’s a geometric mountain range down the left side of his rib cage with a matching cactus in the foreground. The cactus has a flower budding on top.

“Why a cactus?” Kent asks as Dex’s tattoo gets wrapped.

“The desert doesn’t always fuck up,” Dex explains simply.

It shouldn’t make Kent tear up; he chalks it up to dust or some shit like that. Kent may ask Mariah to take a picture of them. Kent might be the one to kiss Dex this time. Dex’s flustered face is worth all the chirping he’ll get later.

“We should probably buy the stuff on this list,” Dex suggests as they get back into the car.

“Don’t worry I have soap and ointment for this shit,” Kent waves him off.

“Of course,” Dex laughs, “of course you do.”

Kent laughs too, because it’s been forever since someone could chirp him with a single phrase and have it mean so much.

“Ok we have a fucking long drive until Kansas City,” Kent declares as he opens the navigation on Dex’s phone.

“Is that where we’re going?” Dex tries to hide the amusement in his voice. Kent knows everywhere like the back of his hand.

“Yep, c’mon let’s grab lunch. I know this place around here where everything is served on a biscuit.”

Most of the day is spent in the car. They take turns picking music and talking about random shit. Kent apparently has stories of Jack and Bitty that Dex hadn’t heard before. It makes him proud. It feels like they’re friends. Like they were supposed to meet. When they finally get to Kansas City, it’s late in the evening.

“I know a hookah bar around here that’s the shit,” Kent brings up, “but I’m also down for sleep or—something.”

He preens at the way Dex blushes, muttering about ‘something alright’.

They end up going to a tavern Kent loved the last time he was in town. The half bald bar tender recognizes him and beckons them to take a seat.

“Murry, how you been man?” He shakes the bartender’s hand firmly.

“Same old, same old Kenny,” Murry shakes his head amiably. “Who’s the stiff?”

“Friend of mine,” Kent points back with his thumb. “Will, this is Murry Walsh. Best son of a bitch this side of the Mississippi.”

Dex shakes the man’s hand firmly. “Nice to meet you, sir.”

“Sir,” Murry snorts. “Get a load of this gentleman. You’re too good for a schmuck like Kent.”

Kent chuckles. Dex smiles cordially, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. When Murry turns away to get them some drafts, Kent nudges Dex.

“Hey, he was just chirping, alright? He didn’t mean it.”

Dex nods somberly.

“He’s on the up and up anyway.” Kent’s lips quirk to one side, “he wouldn’t out you.”

Dex’s eyes narrow as he takes a seat. “What are you talking about?”

“About him chirping you.”

“He wasn’t chirping me for being gay, Kent,” Dex seethes quietly. “He was chirping _you_.”

Kent feels the blood drain from his face. “Nah, that part was true.”

“Bullshit,” Dex insists.

Kent doesn’t want an argument. And he doesn’t want Dex to be forced to make him feel better. So he nods with as neutral an expression as possible. Dex, however, sighs, squeezing Kent’s arm gently.

“You’re good enough,” he repeats like a mantra. “You’re good enough for me.”

Kent leans in closer, smiling into Dex’s lips. He wants to trust Dex. He tells him as much. Dex responds by closing the distance between them. They stick around until last call, making small talk with Murry and some of the regulars. At some point, a few men from a booth come up to ask for Kent’s autograph. He gives them a megawatt smile and asks if they have a pen. They don’t but Murry has a sharpie which is even better. They get some napkins and wallets signed. One guy even asks for a selfie. They thank him as they head out of the tavern with their group.

“Does that happen a lot?” Dex takes another swig of his beer.

Kent shakes his head, smirking. “Most of the time I get starred at like I’m a disease. They all wanna know what’s so wrong with me that I quit the NH fucking L.”

“Is that bad?”

Kent bites his lip. He never bothered to really consider the phenomena, “a little. I’m more than my fucking record. But I get it. I disappointed a lot of people. Just gotta remind myself that they don’t matter.”

He asks Murry to take a picture of them at some point. He thinks he’s gonna get the drop on Dex again. But this time Dex is ready. Kent is pretty sure it’s just a picture of them turning to kiss each other, but he’ll ask Dex to email him a copy later anyway.

He and Dex walk back to their hotel hand in hand. It starts sprinkling when they’re two blocks away. Kent hums singing in the rain. Then he gets something else stuck in his head.

“I don’t want another heartbreak—”

“No,” Dex interrupts firmly.

“C’mon Will,” Kent teases. “It’s _our_ song.”

Will, being tipsy but not drunk shakes his head, allows a shy grin to creep onto his face. Kent spins him in the middle of the sidewalk, pulling him into a dip.

“This kiss, this kiss,” he sings slightly off key. “Unstoppable.”

Dex chuckles as he leans up to kiss Kent.

“We’ve gotta stop meeting like this,” Kent chirps.

“Oh my god,” Dex fake gasps. “You have no game.”

“Shut up,” Kent stick his tongue out as he helps Dex up. “My game’s impeccable.”

Dex continues laughing, kissing Kent’s temple. It’s infectious and good natured. They fall into bed in a fit of giggles—hardly remembering what got them worked up in the first place. Kent calms down enough to direct Dex to the bathroom, helping him clean his tattoo.

They’re still chirping each other as they fall asleep. The last thing Kent murmurs is mostly to himself.

“I could be in like with you.”

_/.\\_

The next morning is Sunday. It’s been over a week since Dex first met Kent. They sleep in, if sleeping until 9 am counts. Kent mumbles something about getting brunch in St. Louis and grabbing coffee on the way. Dex agrees as long as he can pay for the coffee. Kent nods his head as he gets dressed sluggishly. Dex frowns, Kent is the most obnoxious morning person he knows.

“What’s wrong,” he demands.

Kent winces, “I’m a fucking lightweight.”

“Hangover?”

“Something like that,” he groans, cracking his crack as he does. “I just—feel disgusting and wrong. Ugh, I love alcohol, and then it makes me feel so shitty about myself.”

“So don’t drink it,” Dex offers simply.

Kent frowns, “I don’t—fuck, you saw me in Vegas. I don’t binge drink. I had two last night. I don’t do that anymore.”

Dex wants to argue, but he also gets the sense that this isn’t something he wants to continue discussing. So he keeps his mouth shut.

It’s half past noon when they near the brunch place Kent was so excited about. Kent’s mood is still subdued and morose but other than the lack of conversation, it hasn’t been terrible. They get food, and Dex insists on driving for a while.

“Get some sleep,” he offers.

Kent huffs, but ultimately relents. Dex spends that time clearing his mind. Because Kent was right, sometimes it was a lot to deal with how he can’t deal. But for the most part, Kent genuinely cared about Dex, and Dex genuinely cared about him. He thinks he could see a tiny house parked somewhere on the west coast. Somewhere in between Nursey, Chowder, Farmer, and Dylan. He thinks he could find a software job just about anywhere, and that Kent could see the world as he wants without feeling like he doesn’t belong anywhere.

There’s a part of him that wonders if he could actually make it in the NHL. If maybe his story would be different. Jack’s out; Kent wouldn’t have to play; and Dex would still go to therapy. He thinks that the idea of a Cup in his hands and Kent’s arms wrapped around his waist is optimistic and naïve. Dex was raised to be pragmatic, to always think of the long term. Something about prodding Kent into asking for what he wants makes Dex want to think harder about what he wants for himself.

When Kent wakes up, he’s still not—himself. But he’s talking a little more and he chugs his water as he insists on driving for a bit. A bit turns into the entire six-hour trek to Pittsburg. Kent drives them in a very precise route. Somehow, Dex ends up sleeping in Phil Kessel’s guest room. He’s almost surprised that it took this long for Kent to find another hockey player to crash with. Then again, they didn’t stop for long in Denver.

“Like fuck I was gonna hit up Sakic,” Kent mutters bitterly. “I told him last year to call and he said ‘our season’s gonna be great, don’t worry kid.’”

“You can’t make people accept your help,” Dex reminds him.

Kent stews for moment, “you fucking got that right.”

They don’t do anything that night. It’s one thing to fool around in Jeff’s house. It doesn’t stop Kent from propositioning him, however. Dex declines, and Kent concedes by kissing his hand reverently.

“How are we gonna do this tomorrow?” Kent whispers when they’re finally in bed.

“What do you mean?”

“How are you planning on getting home?”

“With my car,” Dex responds incredulously.

“I mean what route.”

“Whatever the GPS tells me is the fastest way from New York to Boston,” Dex flips over to face Kent.

Kent opens his mouth to say something. Dex gives him a moment to collect his thoughts.

“I could take a train from Poughkeepsie,” he offers. “New York traffic can be a bitch.”

“I don’t mind,” he keeps his tone light.

“It’s really ok,” Kent assures him.

Dex traces Kent’s jaw with his thumb. “How am I supposed to see you again if I don’t know where to find you?”

Kent gasps. He shudders, “ok. I’ll introduce you to Ma and Izzy.”

Dex knows in any other situation it might seem like too much too soon. Maybe it was, but Kent was throwing him a lifeline. He was giving Dex as much room to stay as he was to leave. Dex drifts off thinking about what Kent had told him the night before.

_I could be in like with you._

_/.\\_

Kent gets out of bed bright and early in the am. He makes breakfast for Kessel as a thank you. Kessel asks him some general questions about how he’s been and who he’s seen. Kent knows Phil is getting recon for Sid, but it’s ok. His whereabouts are no big secret to anyone who bothers to use social media. Just because Kent doesn’t have a phone anymore doesn’t mean he can’t be viral. Dex comes down eventually, making some awkward conversation with Kessel. Kent thinks even if he tried to grease the wheels of their conversation with hockey, it would just get more awkward.

They head out as Kessel heads to work with his trainer. Kent tells Dex in no certain terms that he’s driving.

“New York driving is the fucking worst if you’ve never driven in it.”

Dex relinquishes the keys.

Before Kent pulls out of the driveway, he hands Will his pocket book. He glares at the book in confusion.

“I can’t find you if I don’t know where you are,” Kent argues.

Dex smirks sadly, fishing for a pen out of his glove box. What is supposed to take six hours to drive turns into more like eight. Kent asks for Dex’s phone when he finally finds a decent parking spot two blocks from his place. He calls Izzy, who screams in his ear. And then he tells her to tell Ma he’s bringing a friend home for dinner tonight. She screams again, but this time it’s excitement. He hangs up as Dex begins protesting.

“Are you sure—”

“Babe, no one’s gonna steal your car,” Kent assures him.

Will glares at him, “fine.”

“We are hauling your shit inside, though,” he clarifies. “Someone might see your gear in the back and break a window—oh and don’t forget your gun.”

Dex blushes profusely, muttering something under his breath.

“What was that?”

“I don’t have one,” Dex averts his gaze.

Kent smiles softly, “I figured.”

“Really? When?”

Kent reaches up and pecks him on the lips. “That’s when,” he says simply.

It takes them maybe five minutes to make it inside his family’s panaderia.

“Mamá,” Kent calls into the back.

“Don’t you mamá, me, Kenny,” his mother comes bustles out of the back with a tray full of orejas. “I asked you last week ‘when are you gonna come home?’ what do I get ‘uh—I don’t know capaz en un mes?’”

“Are you seriously angry about me coming home sooner?”

“No,” she shouts in exasperation. “I’m just trying to process this!”

Kent chuckles, “Ma you’re scaring the gringo.”

Dex grumbles something about knowing what that means. Meanwhile Ma puts the orejas on display.

“I’d ask you to help speed this along, but I don’t know where those hands have been,” she looks pointedly at Dex.

Kent cackles, “Ma don’t be rude. He’s my ride.”

“Well thank you—”

“Dex,” Kent supplies

“For bringing my son home,” she smiles warmly. “I hope you like mole. Kenny, Izzy’s upstairs.”

Kent drags Dex behind him. Izzy all but tackles Kent when he opens the apartment door. She’s so smug about her height over him and makes it a point to use his shoulder as an armrest (no matter how uncomfortable it looks or how minimal their height difference is). Her course black curls gets all over his face as she nuzzles his nose. She chirps him about not getting real color on his skin after being out in Vegas. He can see the hesitation in her smile. She’s waiting for him to leave again. He hugs her tighter.

He offers to help make dinner. Dex’s things are dropped off in Kent’s room, and he’s all but ushered onto a barstool in the kitchen. Izzy demands to know how they met and then proceeds to chirp them both at every turn. Kent lets Dex talk for the most part. Because he doesn’t want to make things seem bigger than they are. But suddenly he’s blushing as Dex tells Izzy about the fountains.

Izzy flashes Kent a cryptic stare after Dex lifts his shirt to how her his tattoo. Whatever she thinks of Dex, she’s made up her mind. Ma closes the shop at seven thirty. Dinner’s on the table ten minutes later. They say grace and despite being out of practice, Kent feels like that’s what signals he’s finally home. Dex is a good sport about it, and it makes it hard for Kent to take his eyes off of him over dinner. Kent remembers being young and wishing he could find someone good enough to meet his mom. He laughs, and it’s at the same time Izzy makes a good joke so no one notices. But it’s surreal that he keeps getting these little tastes of ‘what if’ of ‘maybe someday’.

Ma pulls out the old photo album when Dex asks some question about how old the building is. But it turns out he has some advice about that one shrieking pipe in the attic. Ma keeps offering seconds and deserts and Kent has to start stealing food off of Dex’s plate just so he isn’t responsible for eating it all. Izzy asks off handedly about how they should go to this book store in Brooklyn and—

“I’m leaving first thing,” Dex admits.

Kent’s fingernails dig so deeply into his palm that his hand convulses under the table. But no one can see so he’s not making a scene. It isn’t about him. It isn’t about how he’s wasted a week pretending he could be anything that who he really is. It’s not like he was anything more than a louse on the cross-country trip of a rising NHL star. It’s not like he hasn’t been here before. At one point, thirty-four days was an entire universe—stars were born and died in the time it took Kent to have his first real love. Dreams were forged and fizzled in that time. He lost half of the only family he ever knew in that time. Ten days was just a lifetime. It was just enough time for Kent to remember he was capable of so much more. His fingernails dig a little deeper, the back of his throat closes up. But it doesn’t matter because Ma is laughing, and Izzy isn’t as untrusting as before. Dex’s freckled smile is a galaxy of everything he forgot he didn’t deserve. He thinks his eyes well up for a moment because he feels Will’s hand brush against his elbow. It’s a life preserver. Just knowing Dex is there has been keeping him afloat. He decides not to ruin the moment any more than he already has.

They go to bed early, and Kent has to promise his mom ten times that he’ll be there in the morning. He knows what his impulsivity does to her. He thinks he’s done with traveling for now. He spends an hour just memorizing the way Dex’s body feels against his. He knows he has to make enough memories to last a lifetime. No matter what Dex has said or thought in the last few days, Kent can’t hold him to any of it. He’s got his whole life ahead of him. Now’s not the time to give up because of some asshole he met on the side of the road on the way to Las fucking Vegas.

Dex asks him what’s wrong. Kent almost says ‘nothing’ out of habit.

“I want you to be happy,” he says instead.

“Ok,” Dex sighs.

“Just—promise me you’ll do whatever you need to do to make that happen,” he holds Dex a little tighter.

Dex’s mouth traipses over Kent’s ear. “I promise.”

“Ok.”

Dex kisses his cheek. Kent shudders, immense loneliness already flowing back to him before he’s even got a chance to wish Dex a nice life.

“You gotta promise me something,” Dex counters after a moment.

“Anything,” he swears. Because there’s so much fucking good in Dex. Because anything worth a promise must be crucial.

“Take some of that hockey money and get help,” Will instructs.

“Dex…”

“You need to be happy too,” Dex insists. “I can’t come back for you if you’re not here.”

Kent buries his head in Dex’s neck. It isn’t a promise. It isn’t a declaration of love or like or anything. Maybe it’s nothing more than a guy trying to appease the crazy person in the room. All Kent hears is ‘I’ll come back for you’.

“Ok,” he whispers finally.

_/.\\_

Dex leaves at the crack of dawn the next day. Kent’s mom sends him with a box of pan dulces for his family. Izzy gives him her phone number (“some of us live in this century”). She hugs him like an old friend, saying thanks in a way that’s more relieved than it should be. Kent helps him take his stuff down to the car. Not that Dex needs help carrying one bag. But by the way Kent’s knuckles squeeze the life out of his bag’s strap, Dex thinks it was a good idea.

They don’t kiss. Because they can’t do that anymore. They’re not strangers at the right place at the right time. They’re not lovers going across country. They’re friends of friends; their lives are messy and busy. Neither of them say it. But when they move out of their goodbye hug, neither of them closes the gap. They’re back to where they started: people who think they know people.

Maybe Dex pulls Kent back into the hug. Maybe they stand there like idiots in the middle of New York at five in the morning because it’s worth it to see this trip to the end. Maybe they’re standing there because they know this is it, nothing will ever be the same again. Maybe they’re standing there paralyzed by life—too afraid to leave and too afraid to jump.

“You know how to find me,” Dex reminds him.

Kent chuckles smiling for the first time that morning, the sun radiates off of him like it’s never seen such joy.

“I’ll be here.” Kent squeezes his arm gently, like he’s trying to make sure Dex isn’t a dream for one final time. “For a while, probably.”

He sets the navigation on his phone and Kent tells him which route to pick.

“Kick some ass out there, will ya?” Kent nudges him playfully.

Only centimeters and a car door separate them. Dex has never wanted to be as impulsive as he feels around Kent. He starts the car before he decides never to leave. He sees Kent stay on the street corner until he’s four blocks down and turning left. New York traffic is a bitch, but at least he picked up some tips from Kent the day before. It takes him seven hours to get back to Maine. He all but crashes into Claire’s arms when she opens the door. His mom makes dinner, and Mary comes over just to sit at dinner and chirp him about going to the ‘big leagues’. His dad is nowhere in sight, Dex doesn’t particularly care enough to ask.

He unpacks after dinner. He finds an MP3 player, an aces snapback, and a rosary in his bag. If they weren’t carefully tucked together in a corner of his front pocket, he might’ve thought it was a fluke. He flops back in his bed, scrolling through it. There’s different playlists, some of them with glam rock, some with indie pop, and most of them with bands he’s never heard of. The last playlist is titled with nothing but a single “<3”.

Dex grabs the earbuds off his desk, plugs them in and presses play on the first track.

_Send me your location. Let’s focus on communication. ‘Cause I just need a time and place to come through._

He chuckles despite himself. He falls asleep listening to the playlist on repeat. He’s still playing it a few weeks later when he’s back on campus. He’s still looking at a picture of him and Kent kissing in a bar in Kansas City. He finally uploads the photos to a folder on his computer, and deletes them off his phone. If he prints them out at the drug store off campus and mails them to a bakery in New York, he tells himself it’s closure.

If he gets a tattoo of pine trees going all around his left forearm before school starts, he doesn’t give a reason other than ‘it felt right’. He goes to school; he plays hockey. Dex talks with his agent and he talks with teams. He goes to his therapist a little more often because he doesn’t want to be Jack. He picks up every random call he gets in case it’s _the_ call. He isn’t sure if he’s waiting for Kent to say, “I’m going west, come with me,” or if he’s waiting for someone to tell him something’s happened.

He tells his therapist as much in September. She tells him maybe he doesn’t need to close himself off from Kent to make an informed decision about his life. They talk a lot about codependency, and what the NHL means for him. He keeps going back to what Kent asked him in July. What was he going to get out of professional hockey?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> actually if you could tell me what you think about Dex going into the NHL I would love to hear your thoughts


	5. You will come down soon too. You will come down too soon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dex feels like his heart is in his throat, like everything he hadn’t felt as intensely in months was being pulled up to the surface. He feels like he’s being pulled out to sea. He forgot how much he hated being stuck on land.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Mentions self-harm and alcohol  
> oh and sex
> 
> This chapter was rewritten 3 times over the last week. So if you at any point gave me feedback on this fic, this chapter is for you. You really helped me tie it all together.
> 
> EDIT: if you've read the fic in the first three days since it was posted I'm sorry there was an entire scene missing for some reason??? And it's the scene where Kent finally decides to get help so I'm putting it back in

It's December the next time Dex sees Kent. Nursey, Whiskey and Foxtrot spent weeks planning an Epikegster to end all kegsters. Together they’d invited half the schools in Boston and then some. The SMH alumni were invited, but most of them were busy or had been out of the drinking scene for a while. The party was in full swing. Dex was leaning was in the back corner of the living room, trying not to look awkward as his conversation with Chris dropped off as he caught sight of Derek and Caitlin making out on the dance floor.

“You don’t have to stand around keeping me company.” Dex nudges him toward the crowd, “go dance.”

Chris raises his brows, appraising Dex. “You sure?”

“Yea,” Dex keeps his tone light, “go have fun.”

“Thanks, Dex.”

His eyes follow Chow as he walks toward the crowd. Dex thinks he sees a shock of blond hair in the crowd. His breath hitches. He shakes it off because he knows he’s being dumb. He thinks maybe he should text Izzy, and see how Kent’s doing. He thinks maybe she’ll tell him nothing new from when he asked in September. That would be better than nothing at all.

He’s daydreaming about snapbacks and a tattoo of cardinals when he notices someone two yards away clearly headed in his direction. It’s Kent with grey eyes and the nicest dress shirt Dex has ever seen on him. When their eyes meet, Kent’s lips quirk into a shy smile. Dex feels his face flush. It’s been months and miles of distance, but he hasn’t forgotten the way Kent’s lips felt amazing as they dragged along his neck.  Dex feels like his heart is in his throat, like everything he hadn’t felt as intensely in months was being pulled up to the surface. He feels like he’s being pulled out to sea. He forgot how much he hated being stuck on land.

Kent stops when he’s inches away from Dex. He looks up at him, grinning a little harder. His eyes are mischievous but warm.

“Hey Dexy,” he rasps quietly. “Didja miss me?”

Dex can’t make his mouth function enough to articulate how much he’s missed Kent, missed them. He swallows thickly, trying to suppress the lump in his throat. He nods. He feels his arms find Kent’s waist, pulling him in so their bodies are together once more. Kent leans up; his lips are right in front of Dex’s. He doesn’t move, hovering expectantly. Kent licks his lips and Dex takes the hint, making the first move. Kent melts further against him, shoving his tongue so far into Dex’s mouth that Dex sighs in relief.

Dex could spend all night like this, but he’d prefer not to get interrupted by Whiskey demanding another kegstand or Tango asking what Kent Parson is doing in there. Unlike Dex, Whiskey, Tango, and Chowder all knew who Kent was.

“Wanna go up to my room?”

Kent snorts as if the answer were obvious. “Yea.”

Dex doesn’t think he’s ever maneuvered so quickly around a kegster crowd before. He definitely heard Nursey calling out as they made their way up the stairs. Dex’s definitely going to have to pay tomorrow for sexiling him. It’s a small price to pay for Kent, though. He closes the door behind Kent who pushes him against it. Kent ravages his mouth as Dex picks him up, caressing his thighs and grabbing for his ass. Kent whines desperately.

“Bed?” Dex grunts.

Kent nods furiously. Dex carries him to the bed. He kicks his shoes off quickly. He’s got his shirt half off when he hears Kent chuckle.

“What?”

“I missed you,” Kent responds simply.

Dex smirks sadly, “I missed you too.”

“You didn’t have to take your shirt off,” he mentions.

“You like it when I do.”

Kent kisses him harder.

“Take your pants off for me?” Dex whispers.

Kent nods, arching up enough to shimmy his jeans off; Dex notices something dark on his thigh that wasn’t there before. He moves Kent’s leg gently to get a better look. It’s a tattoo of buoy at sea. It’s adorned with the number 24.

Dex smiles a little harder than he’d ever admit. He reaches up to kiss Kent again, and again. He moans into the way Kent’s hands rake his back. He loves the way Kent’s fingernails carve into him, laying their claim. Dex presses closer into him, letting their legs slide together. It feels like they’re fusing into one single entity. They’re both vibrating with anticipation, and something like love.

_/.\\_

Kent spends a few weeks putting off the inevitable. He spends his days just helping his mom out in the panaderia behind the register. It gives her time to work on new recipes. She keeps talking about hiking up the prices for gringo tourists. He tells her not to worry about the cost of things because he has more than enough put away. She reminds him that he won’t have that money forever if he doesn’t have an income flow. Which is why he never pulled out much for a single road trip. Well, until Dex, of course. Izzy sticks around most days during the afternoon slump. They spend time gossiping in Spanish about drama around the neighborhood and embarrassing shit hockey players did around him.

  
It’s a quiet Wednesday when a package comes in from Massachusetts. Kent spends half the day thumbing through the photographs. He thinks about the line between lust and love. He thinks about how things are ok with Jack now, but it was years of not understanding where one of them stopped and the other began. It was years of being his everything; of Kent wanting Jack to be everything and being constantly disappointed. Because being seventeen made them extremely ill-equipped to be more than friends and teammates. In hindsight, Kent knows that no one can reasonably be expected to conform themselves that far around someone’s needs.

  
He thinks about how proud he was of not falling in love with Jeff. Of how awesome he felt for keeping himself together, and being a good captain without relying on anyone else. That was until he had five seconds to breathe after their second Cup win. Until they had a fight because he couldn’t deal at all and he needed someone to feel as shitty as he had. The look of utter betrayal on Jeff’s face was the last straw. He woke up the next morning in the ICU with a broken arm, broken leg, and three broken ribs.

  
Kent’s staring at the picture of Dex kissing him in Colorado. If he weren’t worried about ruining his only copy, he’d run his finger across Will’s face until his muscles ached as much as he heart did. He isn’t proud of himself for not falling in love with Dex. It’s too late for that. It’s weeks and thousands of miles too late for such an obscene level of denial. He thinks that he could see them driving across every inch of the entire continent together. He can see them swimming in Key West, staying up ‘til midnight in Ankara, and haggling in Cabo. He can pretend that he’s stable enough to get a regular job, and Dex could do whatever the fuck he wants as long as it makes him happy.

  
He wants Dex more than he thinks he’s ever wanted anyone or anything. And it hurts because he doesn’t know how much of that is love and how much is pure fantasy. He asks his mom if he can borrow her laptop. He makes a few calls. He gets a few therapy appointments lined up for the next week because he can take that time off work. Besides, he’d rather find someone who works for him than get discouraged by a single appointment, and not want to go back.

He brings his pocket book to the appointments because it’s like an autobiography. Because he thinks he can talk about the shit he’s done more easily if he can detail them like a story.  
Before he knows it, it’s December. He isn’t magically better; in fact, most days he feels worse for wear. Because looking at everything that’s happened—everything he’s done and everything that’s been done to him—is tough.

Talking about how he managed to get in the Q, how he kept being trans secret for so long is its own trip. He’d never stopped to consider how damaging it was to always be looking over his back until he started unpacking all of it with his therapist. Kent hadn’t thought much of it. He was always the last out of the locker room because it was necessary. That’s how he made friends with Zimms. He wouldn’t’ve gotten anywhere if Jack hadn’t been able to keep another secret; if he didn’t make staying late or coming look normal or distract the coaches when Kent needed to sneak away because he’d been shit at taking his BC pills.

  
Therapy comes down to piecing together a lot of mismatched perceptions and memories. It’s repairing his cracked memories as much as it is learning how regulate his feelings without constricting into self-imposed punishments because he’ll probably fuck up. Now he expects to fuck up, but it’s more about learning what he could do differently and less about purging himself. It’s still hard. He still hates himself more than he should. And he’s not perfect. So maybe he makes a bad choice. Maybe he leaves a note for his mom with an itinerary. Maybe it’s nothing more than a rushed promise to text her on the train and in Boston, and as much as she wants in between.

  
He knows it’s a dumb idea. But it’s December, and for as much progress as he’s made he doesn’t feel any less for Dex. Maybe there isn’t as much desperation to cling onto the last person who may ever care about him. But it’s deep and warm. It’s wanting more. It’s still an entire ocean of feelings he could drown in—he can still get lost in Dex’s amber eyes.

  
It isn’t the first time he’s been impulsive about Dex. It probably won’t be the last. He slumps back in his seat on the Acela Express, typing furiously. He might as well try to get it right.

  
_/.\\_

“What do you need?” Dex inquires after making out for a while, because no matter how much he brushes off other people, he always listens to Kent.

It’s romantic but frustrating when all Kent wants is a tongue shoved so far up him that he forgets how long it’s been since they were last together.

“Eat me out.” Kent lets out a sardonic chuckle. “I didn’t exactly remember to bring a strap-on.”  

“I can do that,” Dex murmurs.

Kent leans back and tries not to stare too hard at the texture of Dex’s ceiling. He doesn’t bother to ask if Dex is ok with hands in his hair, because he knows Dex likes to be rough. He arches into the way Dex relearns every inch of his body. Their eyes meet as Dex runs his tongue up his torso. He’s torn between offering to ride Dex and telling him to press harder. He settles for the former because it means stalling until he completely loses control.

He litters marks down Dex’s neck as he grinds slowly against him. Kent thinks about heat lightning in the desert. How there’s always water; sometimes it’s just not apparent. He laughs when Dex begs for it harder, faster. Because it hadn't always felt like like Kent had anything to offer him. That was Vegas in the summer, though.

This was Boston in the fall. This was another room where they’re not entirely hiding from the world. This wasn’t strangers fumbling with their hands—asking what was too much or if it wasn't enough. This is a boy who met a boy who lost his way. It’s a boy hitching home so he could find himself. Maybe it didn’t take a three-hour train ride to articulate ‘I miss you’ and ‘I think I love you’, but it was one of Kent’s least destructive plans.

He’d talk it out with his therapist later.

Kent was never one to shout names. Dex knows that. It came as a surprise when Kent yells, “Fuck, Dex.”  

Dex stares at him like he’s sexed out, but also like he’s so fucking amazed. Kent feels himself grin into the kiss that Dex gives him.

“Hi,” Dex says with a dopey grin.

“Hi,” Kent replies, slowly moving off him.

“You didn’t come all the way up here for that,” he chirps.

“Nope,” Kent snorts, “it was nice, though.”

“You wanna tell me why you did?”

“Wanted to talk.” Kent clears his throat.

“About?”

Kent shrugs. “Everything.”

Dex hums. “That’s specific.”

“Yea, give me a second,” Kent signs. “I brought notes.”

He grabs his jeans at the foot of the bed, taking his briefs and a phone out.

“That’s a phone." He points out the obvious.

Kent grins, “I know. It’s new.”

Dex gestures for him to lie down. Kent gets situated in his arms. He pulls up his notes.

“You could’ve called,” Dex argues quietly.

“I know,” he relents. “I was too chickenshit about the idea that you’d say no. I’m sorry.”

“Ok.”

“I’ll ask next time,” he promises. Then he amends, “Assuming there’s a next time.”

Dex rolls his eyes, “There will be.”

Kent goes back to staring at his phone. He has a script…well, an outline. Regardless, he knows he can get through this.

“So I started seeing a therapist,” is what he leads with.

“Yea?” Dex kisses his hair reverently.

“Yea.” Kent tries to ignore the flush in his cheeks. “I could’ve guessed the PTSD.”

“But…” he prompts.

“Have you ever heard of Borderline Personality Disorder?”

Dex hums. “Yea, Nursey has it.”

“Cool,” Kent responds awkwardly. Which, if he weren’t so wrapped up in the conversation at hand, he’d probably chastise himself for being so tactless. “So—I don’t need to explain a lot about that, right?”

“I’ll let you know if I have questions,” Dex assures him.

“Awesome,” he takes a deep breath. “Look, whatever the fuck we were doing over the summer. Whatever we were. I really loved that. I don’t know if that still works for us, or for you. But, fuck, I really want to be a part of your life. So, tell me where the line is and I’ll stick to it.”

Dex stares at him with a calculating expression. Kent feels himself shaking with fear. Dex pulls him in closer.

“I’m trying to keep it together, Dexy,” he admits quietly. “But I’m terrified.”

“Of what?”

“Let me go back to my notes,” Kent grumbles. Because if he sticks to the notes he wrote when he was calm, there’s less of a chance of him saying something he’ll regret later.

“Ok.” Dex’s voice is calming and empathetic. It’s still keeping Kent afloat.

“Thanks,” he shudders in spite of himself. “I wanna respect your boundaries. I know you haven’t signed with any team yet, but I want you to know I support whatever you decide. Just because it didn’t work out for me doesn’t mean it’s the worst for everyone.”

“Can we talk about that?”

Kent’s eyes flicker toward the concerned expression on Dex’s face. “Of course, what about it?”

“Contracts, options…everything,” he elaborates.

“Oh, so my professional opinion.” Kent doesn’t know whether to feel proud or slightly confused. But he isn’t offended because Dex clearly trusts him.

“Basically,” Dex agrees.

“I can do that.”

Dex holds him a little tighter. “When do you have to go back?”

Kent licks his lips, “I have a ticket for Sunday night.”

Dex is silent for a moment. “I care about you. You matter a lot to me.  I want you to be in my life. I can’t promise that it’s going to be easy. The teams that want me are out west, and I don’t expect you to move for me. I want us to figure something out.”

Kent is silent for a moment, processing everything. Suddenly it makes a lot more sense why Dex always knows what to say. He’s had years of practice setting boundaries and expectations. “Ok, what does that have to do with when I’m going back?”

“Maybe we could talk about hockey tomorrow,” Dex offers.

“And tonight?”

“We can figure this,” he gestures between them, “out. We can take breaks if it’s too hard.”

Kent sighs nervously, smiling as honestly as he can. Because he’s grateful but nervous as shit. “Thanks for understanding.”

_/.\\_ 

 **Kent:** what if I got a cat?

 **Dex:** then you’d have to stay in one place

 **Kent:** not if I bought like a camper or something

 **Dex:** you can barely drive

 **Kent:** I’d hire a driver

 **Dex:** so you’d pay someone to drive you around the country?

 **Kent:** sure, why not

 **Dex:** I’m just concerned about your social life. How else am I gonna hear about the magic of vinegar or how you got free oboe lessons.

 **Kent:** vinegar gets anything out of everything

 **Kent:** if that’s not magic idfk what is

 **Dex:** surprised it took you this long to use an acronym

 **Kent:** I haven’t had a phone in four years, Dex. I’m not a caveman.

 **Dex:** and suddenly your grammar’s better too. Must be all that vinegar

 **Kent:** …

 **Kent:** ….

 **Dex:** can’t think of a good chirp?

 **Kent:** I can’t find the flipping off emoji

 **Kent:** fuck, how do you get emojis again?

 **Dex:** I’m not telling you

 **Kent:** well imagine me doing that ‘cuz I am

 

_/.\\_

 

 **Kent:** I miss going out

 **Dex:** ?

 **Kent:** I don’t miss getting shitfaced all the time

 **Dex:** but

 **Kent:** I miss how I felt

 **Dex:** how did you feel

 **Kent:** like I was popular and loveable

 **Dex:** and now?

 **Kent:** where else am I supposed to meet weird people if I’m stuck here

 **Dex:** are you stuck

 **Kent:** bakery’s busy, I don’t travel in winter anyway

 **Dex:** maybe you could take a day off

 **Dex:** Providence is close

 **Kent:** maybe

 

_/.\\_

 

 **Dex:** what’s your username

 **Kent:** on what

 **Dex:** spotify

 **Kent:** everyone’s defected to that, haven’t they

 **Dex:** it’s not that bad

 **Kent:** fine, I make an account and then what?

 **Dex:** add some music, I’ll follow your playlists

 **Kent:** why

 **Dex:** no offense, but I’ve been listening to the same ten playlists for six months. I need variety

 **Dex:** is that ok?

 **Kent:** yea

 **Kent:** <3

 

_/.\\_

 

 **Kent:** I thought Buzzfeed was gonna tank by this point

 **Dex:** they make a killing off ad revenue

 **Kent:** you mean their sponsored content bullshit?

 **Dex:** yea

 **Kent:** it would be fucking cool to get rich off doing nothing

 **Dex:** you’re rich, remember?

 **Kent:** shhhhhhh

 **Kent:** I can’t hear you over the sound of my gas station burrito

 **Dex:** gross

 **Dex:** why are you eating out of a gas station?

 **Kent:** Providence, remember?

 **Dex:** right

 **Kent:** oh, it’s up I just got the notification

 **Dex:** how do I look?

 **Kent:** like a fucking Ace, what else?

 **Kent:** (the picture’s good, nothing embarrassing)

 **Dex:** thanks

 **Kent:** no problem, babe

_/.\\_

_/.\\_

 

“I got a call today,” Kent tells his mom over dinner one day in late April.

“Yea?”

“Apparently, a little birdy told the Islanders I’ve been staying put all season,” he explains with a mouth full of rice. “They wanted to see if I would take a full-time gig with their coaching staff.”

“What’d you tell them?” Her voice is casual as she nervously tucks a strand of curly hair behind her ear.

“I appreciate the offer and I’d let them know in a few days,” he shrugs.

Ma laughs mirthlessly. “That’s a no.”

Kent groans, picking at his chicken. “Probably. I thought I should check with a few people before I said no.”

“How do you feel about it?”

“Like it makes sense,” he groans. “Coaching pays decently. I’ve been around hockey forever.”

“You haven’t been around hockey in almost a year,” she counters.

Kent click his tongue, nodding slowly, “Yea.”

“Do you think that’s helped or hurt or…”

“I think I’m happier,” he interrupts, understanding the implications of her questions.

“You look happier.”  

He sighs, setting his fork down. “C’mon, Ma, just say it.”

“Stop me if you need to but—” she tilts her head to one side.  “Maybe not having to hide constantly is good for you.”

She wasn’t wrong. He’d been out for years at home. No one bats an eyelash at him anymore. Anyone who had a problem with him—or even Izzy when she brought her girlfriend last Christmas—no longer gives them the time of day. It was nice not to have to worry about jeopardizing his career or life based on who knew he was queer and trans.

But understanding her point didn’t make how Kent felt any less conflicted. “I guess. It’s fucking frustrating that I squandered my career.”

“Did you squander it?” she phrases poignantly.

“No,” he admits more to himself. “I broke records. I won the Cup twice. I was one of the best NHL players.”

“You still are.” His mom reaches for his hand, rubbing it tenderly. “You should be proud of yourself, mijo.”

“I am,” he repeats. He’ll repeat as many times as anyone tells him to. As some point, he’ll believe it himself. “I don’t need the NHL to be happy.”

“So, what’s the plan?”

“Keep doing your books.”

“And then what?” she cues.

“Maybe move out west,” Kent speculates. “Maybe stick around here. It depends?”

“On what? Dex?”

“Not entirely,” he frowns. And because he knows his tendency to over analyze things, he adds, “Look we can talk shit out if it seems like a bad decision, but talking about him like that rubs me the wrong way.”

“Sweetie I didn’t mean it like he’s bad for you,” she clarifies. “I’m just happy you’re letting yourself be happy.”

Some of the tension eases out of his back. He’s not perfect, but they’re working on a lot of things. “Thanks, Ma.”

_/.\\_

 

“Jeff, where’d you put my longboard?” Kent shouts as he throws the front door open. Dex is officially an Ace, and officially taking Kent’s old room.

“You never had a longboard, dillweed,” Jeff volleys from the kitchen.

“Yea I did, assface,” he protests. “It had a skull on the bottom. I just checked the garage and it isn’t there.”

Jeff squints at him. “You mean the broken piece of shit I bought at a yard sale that you used once?”

Kent crinkles his nose, “Is that what happened?”

He whistles slowly. “You weren’t kidding about the selective memory thing.”

He shrugs, “I told you. If something doesn’t make sense I just forget it.”

“So, you thought it was yours because?”

Kent shrugs emphatically. “You handed it over like a fucking present.”

“Fuck,” Troy runs a hand through his hair, “no wonder you were so fucking excited.”

“That was six years ago,” Kent retorts as if that makes it any less embarrassing for him.

“I know, you’re old,” Troy chirps.

“Fuck you, you’re older.”

“Anyone gonna help me with these boxes or what?” Dex shouts from the top of the stairs.

“Coming,” Kent calls back. He makes no move to get back to unloading Dex’s car.  

“Don’t make me sit on you,” Dex threatens.

“Like you could catch me,” Kent chirps.

Dex stares at him incredulously. He takes a step down onto the stairs. He raises his brows, smirking confidently. Kent takes a step back from the counter. Dex takes another step. Kent bolts for the backyard. He hears footsteps thundering behind him. He’s at the opposite end of the pool when he turns around, Dex is a few feet away.

“You’re trapped,” he taunts Kent.

Kent purses his lips with dissatisfaction. “That’s a thought. But might I suggest—” he cuts himself off as he jumps into the pool.

It’s June, and the sun is pounding down overhead. The sun’s rays break through to the bottom of the pool; the water has never looked clearer. A few seconds later, Dex is crashing through the surface. Kent swims up to wait for him. It’s been almost a year since they first met. He pulls his shirt off, and slings it onto a nearby patio chair. Dex emerges with a soaking wet head of hair.

Kent laughs at the way Dex pretends to be disgruntled. “I thought you liked water, Dexy.”

Dex rolls his eyes, poorly suppressing his grin. “C’mon, we have half a car to unload.”

“Anything to stop you from kicking me out,” Kent jokes. And then he frowns, realizing that he actually means it.

“Is that why you’ve been like this all day?”

“Fuck, yea,” Kent sighs, swimming to Dex. “Shit, yea I—fuck—I didn’t think it was bothering me.”

“Can we talk about it?”

“Yea,” Kent acquiesces. “I—you’re not taking my place on the team.”

“I’d never do that,” Dex promises. He reaches out to hold Kent. “Trust me.”

Kent clears his throat, “yea, ok.”

“Anything else?”

“I need you to give me your schedule? So—I know when you won’t respond to my texts.”

“Of course,” Dex agrees.

Maybe Will Poindexter isn’t perfect, but he’s patient and empathetic. He takes Kent as he is, and can look out for himself when Kent can’t do that for him. Maybe that’s more than enough.

“Thanks, babe.”

_/.\\_

 

 **Dex:** having a good birthday?

 **Kent:** Ma made me chorizo con huevos, Izzy dragged me to this place in Brooklyn that’s a bakery and a bar

 **Kent:** was thinking of pitching the idea to Bits

 **Dex:** for Providence?

 **Kent:** why not?

 **Dex:** are you moving to Providence?

 **Kent:** idk, maybe eventually

 **Kent:** I’ll let you know where to find me, promise

 

_/.\\_

 

 **Kent:** I’m getting a cat

 **Dex:** you’ve said that five times

 **Kent:** and this time I mean it

 **Kent:** I’m adopting a cat

 **Dex:** uh huh

 **Kent:** Dex I’m serious. I’m at a shelter right now.

 **Dex:** ok

 **Kent:** ok?

 **Dex:** I believe you. Don’t adopt a lizard or something too

 **Kent:** fine

 **Kent:** just the cat

 **Kent:** and for the record, it was a rabbit

 **Dex:** rabbits die of anxiety

 **Kent:** …ok I REALLY won’t get a rabbit

 

_/.\\_

 

 **Kent:** is birthday sex an appropriate gift

 **Dex:** are you really asking that now

 **Kent:** why not?

 **Dex:** my birthday is tomorrow

 **Kent:** well according to UPS, your package already arrived

 **Kent:** so this isn’t official bday gift speculation

 **Dex:** then what is it?

 **Kent:** just wondering how you’d respond to finding me on your bed with nothing but a bow on my head

 **Dex:** I wouldn’t hate it

 **Kent:** cool

 **Kent:** btw, you’re always allowed to give me a dick in a box

 **Dex:** noted

 **Dex:** you busy right now?

 **Kent:** I’m always free for skype sex

 

_/.\\_

 

 **Dex:** Perry says hi

 **Kent:** right back at ya

 **Kent:** you at the hotel yet?

 **Dex:** Uber just got here

 **Kent:** told you to get one sooner

 **Dex:** ?

 **Kent:** I’m kinda mad. And worried

 **Dex:** I’ll call you when I get there

_/.\\_

_/.\\_

 

Dex wasn’t supposed to see him until the next morning. But considering he also wasn’t supposed to get stranded with his d-partner in Hoboken, he’s relieved to find Kent waiting in the lobby of his hotel. He looks small the way his coat puffs out and his new backpack hunches over him. Kent’s buried in his phone, his leg bouncing a mile a minute, as Dex spots him. He taps Kent’s foot with his own when Kent doesn’t look. Kent offers his hand silently. Will pulls him up, and leads him to the elevators.

“I was two seconds away from calling the cops,” Kent grumbles when Dex finally gets back to his room.

“For what?”

“To look for you assholes, duh,” he chastises.

Dex sighs, “Kenny—”

“Don’t give me that, Poindexter,” Kent snaps. He steps back when Dex tries to get closer. “You don’t text that you’re drunk in New Jersey three hours after curfew, and expect me to be peachy.”

“I’m not drunk anymore,” he argues. Then, realizing that debating will only lead to a bigger argument, he cuts to the chase. “But I’m sorry.”

Kent’s glare softens, “Yea, ok.”

“Yea?”

“I’m glad you’re ok,” Kent admits.

“Can I hug you now?”

“Yea, babe.” he uncurls his fists, opening his arms

Dex hugs him tightly. He leans his weight into Kent because it’s been a long day, a long roadie, and a long year. He knew what he was getting into with the NHL. He still has his same therapist. He calls his mom once a month. he texts his siblings as much as he needs to miss them less. He flies to Portland when he’s got a free day. Dylan smiles more than Dex remembers. It’s nice having his older brother back. It’s great having a team he can trust.

Kent smells like the soap his aunt sells on Etsy, and whatever leftovers he snagged from the bakery and stuffed into his backpack. His hair feels softer than Troy’s manicured lawn. His freckles make Dex hate his own less. Kenny is the first name he sees in the morning when his alarm is buzzing, because there’s already eight texts waiting for him. Apparently, the sunrise in New York inspires a lot of weird thoughts. He’s a call after a bad game asking if he wants to hear what he could do better or if he just wants someone to listen. Kent’s a gentle reminder that being a public figure doesn’t obligate him to care more about what people think.

He’s sending links back and forth about things they could do during the off season. He’s rough days that sometimes lead to arguments, but always in end discussions and apologies. He’s the cactus inked on Dex’s ribcage: sturdy and abrasive, but brimming with so much love. Dex sighs, melting further into their hug. There have been a million or more opportunities to say something before today. None of them have ever felt so right.

“I love you,” he says loud enough for Kent to hear.

Kent hugs him tighter. “Can you say that again?”

Dex leans back so Kent can see the soft smile on his face. “I love you. I’m in love with you.”

Kent bites his lip, grinning as something gets caught in his eye. “I love you too.”

 

_/.\\_

 

 **Kent:** have I ever told you how amazing financial advisors are?

 **Dex:** no, what’s that

 **Kent:** really?

 **Dex:** I’m being sarcastic

 **Kent:** that was unclear

 **Dex:** continue

 **Kent:** I’ve been making money

 **Dex:** great

 **Dex:** ?

 **Kent:** Well yea

 **Kent:** talked to Bitty today

 **Kent:** we’re officially opening a bar/bakery in Providence

 **Kent:** pending we get all this legal shit figured out

 **Dex:** that’s what Shits is for

 **Kent:** and my business degree is what? A perk?

 **Dex:** I didn’t mean it like that

 **Kent:** yea ok

 **Dex:** you good?

 **Kent:** yea

 **Dex:** how Mexican should I expect this place to be

 **Kent:** a solid 70 percent

 **Kent:** maybe more after I get Bits to learn some recipes

 **Kent:** but we can probs make some recipes that are cocktail inspired to balance it out

 **Kent:** like a vacation in your mouth

 **Dex:** don’t tell my sisters

 **Dex:** they’ll come to visit and never leave

 **Kent:** too late  <3

 

_/.\\_

 

 **Kent:** Roses are Red

 **Kent:** Pucks are Black

 **Dex:** ?

 **Kent:** my boyfriend’s so hot he gives people heart attacks

 **Kent:** happy valentine’s day

 **Dex:** it’s March 18th

 **Kent:** any day is valentine’s day if you believe

 **Dex:** slow day?

 **Kent:** the slowest

 **Kent:** I can’t even bribe Magdalena to come over

 **Dex:** didn’t she just have a kid

 **Kent:** I offered to babysit

 **Dex:** so when’s Lardo visiting

 **Kent:** next week

 **Kent:** thank fuck, I need friends

 

_/.\\_

 

 **Dex:** why do I have to go on this trip

 **Kent:** post season vacations are tradition

 **Kent:** don’t act like you won’t have fun

 **Dex:** but Florida?

 **Kent:** it’s a few days. you’ll like it

 **Dex:** or I could go home

 **Kent:** look, as your boyfriend I get it

 **Dex:** and as the former Aces captain?

 **Kent:** don’t fuck up the team chemistry because you feel like it won’t go well

 **Kent:** no matter how shitty tomorrow is, the rest of the week will be awesome

 **Dex:** ok

 

_/.\\_

 

 **Kent:** Ma wants to know what you’re doing for bye week

 **Kent:** and by “wants to know” I mean “heavily implying you book your flight now”

 **Dex:** I don’t have a choice do I

 **Kent:** you always have a choice

 **Kent:** your choice right now is listen to me or face my mother’s wrath

 **Dex:** wrath for what

 **Kent:** for missing Thanksgiving

 **Kent:** blame Izzy

 **Dex:** she says blame you

 **Kent:** fine, blame me AND Izzy

 **Kent:** Ma says bring Dylan too   

 **Dex:** I’m not convincing him. That’s up to you

 **Kent:** I called him ten minutes ago

 **Kent:** he’s in

 **Dex:** of course you did

 **Kent:** ily

_/.\\_

 

“Kent Vincente Parson get off the phone and help me sign these documents,” Bitty shouts one afternoon in October.

Dex snorts. “You’re in trouble.”

“Don’t think I can’t hear you, William Jacob Poindexter,” Eric threatens once more.

“Look who’s talking.” Kent waggles his eyebrows as he enjoys the perks of video calling.

“Well, go before he kills us both,” Dex warns him through clenched teeth.

“Fine,” Kent huffs. “Call me when you land in Vancouver.”

“Of course,” Dex affirms. “Love you.”

“Love you too,” Kent blows him a kiss as he ends the call.

It’s taken almost an entire year, but they’re on the cusp of opening their bakery. Bitty was hesitant at first about the bar aspect until Kent started talking about logistics and appealing to multiple markets. That didn’t include the extensive explanations he gave about his extensive bartending experience. It took a lot to line their ducks in a row, and to get multiple investors on board. But here they were—a decade after the draft, six years after Kent left hockey, and four since Jack joined the NHL.

Life is continuously shifting for Kent. But he’s got friends in Providence, family in New York, and somebody he loves in Las Vegas. Life is destinations that lead to nowhere and roads that stumble onto somewhere. It’s getting lost in your in own life only to find it in random encounters. It’s remembering to love like the desert remembering it still has water: it still has hope.

Kent takes a seat at the new desk in the back office of their new store front. He grins because they’re on the verge of something amazing. “Ok, Bits, Shits, let’s light this pop stand.”

_/.\\_

 

“They cancelled all the flights out of Winnipeg,” Dex informs him with a grave voice.  

“No, don’t tell me that,” Kent groans. He’s leaning over the banister of his Mamita’s house, picking at the ugly Aces sweater he’s currently wearing. Dex’s plane should’ve landed hours ago.

“They said they’ll reschedule some of them for tomorrow,” he explains.

Kent sighs. “But you have a game the day after.”

“I’m sorry,” Dex says for probably the fifteenth time.

“Don’t be sorry, baby,” he assures Dex. “I know how it is.”

“I can skype in for dinner,” Dex compromises.

Kent laughs a little too hard, “Awesome, I’ll set your place.”

He feels the back of his throat constrict. He does understand. Kent’s been in that exact same position before, and there’s nothing Dex can do about it. It was easy two years ago to say he could be flexible. He thinks he still can be, but long distance keeps getting harder and harder. At some point, something’s got to give.

“Merry Christmas, Kenny.” Dex pulls him out of his musings.

He swallows, mustering as much love and enthusiasm as he can. He has to, for Dex’s sake. “Merry Christmas, Dexy.”

_/.\\_

 **Dex:** so about my stuff

 **Troy:** hey it’s still your room

 **Troy:** you don’t have to move anything

 **Dex:** thanks Jeff

_/.\\_

_/.\\_

 

March in Providence is still cold. It’s been two years since Dex lived on the East Coast, and part of him missed the way wind could chill his bones. The other part is vaguely annoyed that he packed his thick coat in the boxes he shipped to Kent’s address this morning. It was a five-hour flight to New York, and another three by train. George told him on the phone that he could take tomorrow to rest. He hasn’t heard from Kent in hours, most likely because he’s at work and hasn’t seen the articles yet.

He thinks about taking an Uber to the apartment that Kent shares with Lardo. Then, remembering he’s still at work, Dex decides to go there instead. The bar and bakery Kent opened with Bitty had proven to be a big hit so far. People enjoyed hard liquor with their baked goods, especially in the dead of winter when more local shops are inclined to close early. The shop is on a street corner not too far from downtown. Its bright neon sign is a beacon calling Dex home.

A warmth settles in the pit of Dex’s stomach. Home is a lot of things. Home is a house in Maine where his mother was relearning happiness. Home is a rundown frat house in the Boston suburbs. It’s a mansion in the desert where he fell in love and started his career. It’s an apartment above a Mexican bakery in East Harlem overflowing with aunts, uncles, and cousins at every major holiday. None of them are his by birth, but they took him and his siblings in with open arms. It’s an apartment in Brooklyn where his best friends live, because life changes more than anyone could expect, but love doesn’t. Home is a two bedroom in Providence where Shitty still smokes too much and paint water has to be hidden from Kent’s cat. It’s a resort in Colorado, a bar in Kansas City, and a hotel room in New York. It’s anywhere that leads him to Kent.

Dex gets out the Uber, throwing his bag over his shoulder as he thanks the driver. He enters the shop, immediately hit by the aroma of Bitty’s pies and pan dulces. The lights are soft, as is the murmur of the crowd. The yellow walls are littered with Jack’s photographs and Larissa’s paintings. He’s seen this place thousands of times, but never in person. Bitty’s working behind the bar. He’s grinning at Dex with all this fondness and excitement. Dex forgot how much he missed that.

“Well c’mon then.” Bitty waves him over.

Dex complies, shuffling in away from the cold. Bitty reaches over the bar to squeeze the life out of him.

“Welcome home, Mr. Poindexter,” Eric greets him enthusiastically.

“Thanks,” he chuckles, “have you seen—”

“Yep, give me one second.” Bitty doesn’t give the chance to finish, bustling toward the back. He turns around to add with a smirk, “He doesn’t know. I thought you’d like to do the honors.”

“Thanks, Bits.” Dex considers sitting down, but he’s thrumming with anticipation.

“What does that even mean?” he hears Kent exclaim as his voice approaches.

“Something came for you and it’s at the bar,” Bitty says patiently as he opens the office door for Kent.  

Kent rubs his temple as he walks behind the counter, not even noticing Dex. He looks at the bar top and ducks to check the cupboards.

“Can I get some service?” Dex leans over to watch Kent searching underneath the bar.

Kent’s opening his mouth to tell him to wait a second when he freezes, looking up to meet Dex’s gaze. Kent gapes, standing up slowly.

“Hey,” Dex says quietly.

“Hi.” Kent stares apprehensively. “What are you doing here?”

“Apparently, I play for the Falconers now,” Dex explains casually. “I was wondering if you know anywhere I could crash for a while?”

Kent smiles brighter than the sun. He leans over the bar, meeting Dex half way for the first kiss they’ve had in months. It’s deep and frantic, but also passionate and tender. It’s traveling thousands of miles to finally come home. It’s like an oath; not promising that things will always be easy, but for the moment they can be. They don’t have to be separated by miles and hockey. They can just be two people who met, and fell in love.

Dex chuckles, causing Kent to stare at him incredulously.

“What?”

“I missed you,” Dex confesses as if they haven’t done this so many times before.

“I guess you’re stuck here a while,” Kenny smirks softly.

Dex shakes his head. Getting stuck can happen anywhere to anyone. It has less to do with physical location and more to do with personal satisfaction. He’s been waiting almost two years to get to this place. He isn’t stuck, far from it.

Instead of arguing, Dex offers an alternative. “I’ve never been to Alaska.”

“Yea?”

“I’d probably get lost,” Dex shrugs.

He cackles. “Without a doubt, babe.”

“I might need someone to pick the music. Maybe complain about me sticking to my meal plan.”

Kent snorts. “We can’t deprive you of that.”

“I couldn’t go until after the season,” Dex points out, hopping his eyes glint with as much anticipation as Kent’s do.

“No worries,” Kent assures him. “My schedule is pretty flexible.”

“Yea?”

“For you, always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((I've been trying to get this fic out since January.)) 
> 
> Idk what else to say other than thanks for enjoying the ride! If you're interested in listening to the fic playlist, [it can be found here](https://open.spotify.com/user/palateens/playlist/3I6lNJlvYbLUmaDxIqoyKE). 
> 
> Also I added a lot to this world that I only mentioned in passing, and I'm not sure if I'm going to get around to writing another fic in this universe. But I still have so many thoughts. Feel free to [say hi on tumblr](http://abominableobriens.tumblr.com/) if you'd like to see some bullet fics or general screaming about these babes.

**Author's Note:**

> ok so many people to thank tbh. So thank you to Lauren, Gabby, Lis, and Ash for letting me rant and change and rework so many parts of this story and for really encouraging me to dig deeper.


End file.
